#I doubt there's many things that Silver truly cannot get down!

[true-blue-sonic]

Once Silver learns to make actually edible food thanks to Amy and Espio, what dishes do you imagine he would enjoy making the most? Not necessarily the things he likes the taste of the most, but the stuff that he enjoys the creation process of for whatever reason

Not sure if it really counts as cooking dishes, but I can see Silver be quite intrigued by the concept of baking! Mostly because of how much it changes form and shape; liquid batter becomes fluffy solid cake, cookie dough rises up from a ball into a disk, things melt, solidify, and change colour everywhere. In food-cooking the same things can technically happen as well, but baking really shows it clearly, so to say. And I can imagine he finds it incredibly intriguing, especially with how every single time you can get a slightly different result!

Regarding actual food dishes, I figure he likes things that are easy to make but still nice-tasting and nutritious. Stuff like soups, meals with rice, or even just flinging some potatoes and veggies into the oven to bake them; just generally easy things for dinner, though sometimes he'll try his hand at fancier and longer-taking stuff as well. Though, I do not think he likes stuff with very strong flavours, like overly spicy or sour dishes. It'll take him some time to get used to those and begin cooking with it. But I figure that overall it's most important for him that it's fun, and the more friends he can cook together with, the better!

[ckret2]

saw your recent reblog about feedback and, though I’ve been occasionally gushing in tags, you deserve to hear what I tell my friends! In general, your writing style is perfect at capturing the timing and delivery of the show itself. I’ve never read a fic i’ve been able to visualize more clearly than this one. You write each character so well that between chapters it feels like i’m right back where i used to be, waiting for new episodes again. I do think you haven’t *quite* solved your side-character-ification (applejackification?) of Dipper problem yet, but other than that you’re doing an astounding job at balancing all the characters and their interactions with each other and with bill in a way that feels natural (plus with these more recent chapters i’m seeing lots of good dipper stuff so you’re definitely getting there with him too! besides, it is nice to see Mabel get the spotlight after all these years anyway. healing, even.) You know exactly how to control an audience’s emotions, you know when to drag something out and when to shut it down, you know when to cut off a conversation and when bring up the fact it was cut off later. Little foreshadowings like the loose tooth are well-planted and plot beats like lucid dreaming are dropped and picked back up delicately and with precision, like pressing piano keys. i don’t doubt for a second it’s all a part of some grand instrument, though i wouldn’t be surprised if you told me most of it was improvised - another way you’re just like the show was. you’ve done the episodic-and-serialized thing better than at least half of all silver-age cartoons that have attempted to do so! I adore the way you show kindness to all characters in your scenes, from gideon’s characterless mother to the little freak himself. It truly feels as though you pick no favorites, and that’s something you do better than the show did tbh. Not that TBOB needed to hook me in with a marketing campaign, but hypothetically, in a universe where I didn’t own a hand-sewn bill cipher throw-pillow and yet somehow still found this fic, I would definitely be excited for it after reading! you’re gifted, and i hope this does numbers on AO3. I truly cannot stand hazbin hotel, but I may go back and read your other works once this one’s over, just to hear your narrative voice. it’s a voice worth hearing, and may it be forever amplified.

oh WOW thank you so much??? 😭 this is SUCH a sweet comment and it means so much to me that you took the time to write all this!!

APPLEJACKIFICATION... that made me laugh. Dipper will get some serious development before the end of the eclipse plot and he's key in the next plot, so I think that'll help him make some progress. But yeah—he's not gonna be as important as Mabel, but I do want to make sure he has a plot that stands on its own, smaller though it may be.

It's 2/3 planned, 1/3 improvised. 😁 I've got a lead time of about 15 chapters between what I've posted and what I've written, so I can do stuff like write the poppet chapter, write the tooth fairy arc, edit the poppet chapter, realize that as long as I'm giving him a bloody lip maybe I can loosen his tooth, edit the tooth fairy arc, have him mention that that tooth was loose. And many chapters I haven't written or outlined yet I have loosely planned in my head so I know how to aim toward them.

Wanting to show kindness to all the characters and wanting to give as many of them an internal life as possible is so important to me, and I'm so glad that's showing through so far!

And honestly I think "I hate [xyz] but I'll read it if you're writing it" is the highest compliment. 😂 All my hazbin fics were written pre-season 1 when all we had was the pilot, a couple comics, creator comments, and some Helluva to go by; but idk maybe you'd consider that a plus lol. (If you're interested, on ao3 I've also written Transformers, Godzilla, some Pokémon, and a smattering of other things.)

Thanks again for sending such a nice message!

[beevean]

(Same IDW Silver anon still) Yeah no actually I'm putting some more thought into the whole "No, genius. Whisper is her name." part, and what the fuck. There would have been SO many ways to make that line come off as less dickish; hell, the simple act of having Sonic playfully SMILING while he said it would have been so much better than the irked, annoyed face he pulls now. Sonic, that is your friend you are talking to, and I would call their circumstances at that moment hardly warranting of such annoyance towards Silver not understanding something that inoffensive. I'm thinking of 06!Sonic and Silver meeting with Silver's resolve having changed and him just bluntly going "Circumstances have changed. I need to rescue the Princess.". What does Sonic do? Nod, thumbs-up, and let Silver go along easy and with no fuss. No quips and jerkish statements that indicates he thinks Silver is being a dumbass, merely checking out the situation with a "You look like you're in a hurry. So what's going on?". If you look closely I believe you can even see Sonic smiling in that moment! With that in mind, I truly cannot envision that Sonic and IDW!Sonic to be the same person, legit. I read your response to my earlier post just now after typing the above, and yep, Sonic's thing about his 'over-eager friend' is just also kind of mean. And the literal panel on the next page after "No genius", wherein Sonic does his smug little bow and calls Silver 'Flatware' while asking him to open the door? Also that is yet another jab towards Silver (I think; I don't even understand what flatware is supposed to mean in this context. It's literal definition is something akin to cutlery, it seems? Regardless, I doubt it is anything kind-spirited). It's a shame because I can see so many ways wherein Sonic could have been more friendly while changing so little dialogue, and both he and Silver would have been much better off for it personality-wise.

I think the Flatware joke is supposed to be at best a pun about his name (because good flatware is made of silver) and at worst a jab at his quills that might resemble a fork. Probably the former. Still mean.

Sonic in that issue just sounds like that "friend" who thinks the height of humor is lowkey making fun of you.

"You had to bring the mood down", "I'm Sonic, and my over-eager friend here is Silver", "No, genius, Whisper is her name" (said with a cringy grimace), "care to get the door for us, Flatware?" (mocking bow). Silver even rightfully says "no need to rub it in". I'm sorry, I feel bad for him! Yes, Sonic is snarky and playful, but he never crosses the line where he sounds meanspirited, and if he does, it's when he's 100% sure that the other can dish back, like in that cutscene in Colors where he playfully states that he did all the work and Tails was like "oh I didn't see you build a translator now, did you?". That moment is nice because Sonic and Tails are very close friends and no one is offended. If Tails had been more insecure, Sonic would have immediately apologized and propped Tails up, because it's what Sonic does: he lifts people up!

And it's just with Silver, because he's actually pretty sensitive with Whisper! He immediately understands, without even knowing her, that she's a reserved person who doesn't like interacting with people. He's very respectful of her preference to stay on her own. So it's just an attempt of making Sonic sound a jokester, but the jokes aren't funny.

anyway sonic and silver should interact more and sonic should be nicer to him. I loved a recent fanart of the two discussing about nature together :)

[fourtyfourcatss]

୨⎯ "for @toyafreethoughts" ⎯୧

PART 2

✯ you are delightful company to keep- not just in malleus’ bright eyes, but also in those of his fellow diasomnia classmates. i can see that one mulan scene occurring:

malleus: "would you like to stay for dinner?"

lilia: "WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER?!"

(almost) everyone else: LILIA!

✯ the most random bullshit will happen when the two of you are together. sometimes its because of grimm, sometimes its because of bad luck, somehow you give that feeling that you’re the type of person who gets stuck into bad situations often, half of which is your fault for breaking the rules, and half of which is someone else’s, accidentally stepping into the mess because of grimm and the others

✯ malleus finds it refreshing to be by you. he does not mind the loudness you describe, or how your emotions may be displayed in ways he cannot fully comprehend. but, he is observant. though he is no detective like akechi, his ability to empathize and willingness for communication and tolerance is on par with the words of a masterful mediator. when he does speak, it is only honesty that echoes through his words. you do not need to think hard to understand what his words mean. he does not dumb you down because of your mental diagnoses either, and expects a lot from you. dont worry! a relationship with malleus means good pressure and anticipation— he motivates you with his abilities and ambition.

✯ your sense of adventure and attitude endears many of your friends in the cast, but it is especially malleus that is affected. you remind him of all the good humans have, despite flaws, being capable of so much charity and care. the only other human he is so close with is silver, and you are not like him at all after the initial stage of distance! many can see him softening up physically and verbally the slightest bit near you to make you feel more comfortable. he’s like a prince, truly, researching into counterparts of things you enjoyed back on earth that exists here in wonderland to gift you, asking his friends for advice regarding getting close to you at first. he’s a very calming soul, and matching some of what you’ve said, the relationship itself feels so peaceful and intimate. even with the rolling boulders and sentient armor chasing after the two of you. yep yep 👍🏻 malleus is here to save the day! (again) though, i have no doubt you would’ve been able to escape the situation eventually by yourself.

✯ the two if you go out often during the night for dates and late night shopping! i can see the two of you getting warm boba during the winter, walking around food markets and tasting the snacks. eventually, it gets very cold despite that! so malleus bundles you in his own scarf and casts some magic to heat the two of you up by touching him (he milks the most affection out of anything he can find lol). particularly, he really likes holding your hands. do you wear nail polish? he likes the way it feels when he touches them. not only that, black is both his dorm color and an important color in gothic fashion. isnt it a good suggestion of color?

✯ avid listener to you. he talks more often with you than even lilia, but all the same, he is less of a talker and more of a listener. he likes the way that you laugh and watching your reactions to different things. malleus’ chuckles are hard to come by - his smiles arent - but his laughter is. its like a reward daunting on you when you hear it, a downright angelic laughter. it makes everything you do so so worth it. if you invite him for a movie night, bet that he would be able to pay attention to both at once, so the two of you can talk about the movie together afterwards. he definitely lets you touch the horns.

✯ he can solve 90% of your problems, and that’s exactly what he does when you allow him to. he just wants to see you happy and secure in life, and that extends to when you leave NRC…

✯ sad endings are overrated though, so the two of you have a mirror that can take each other to the other persons world. who gave it to you? just pretend im there and found this magical artifact on accident and gave it to you two 😼 whatever actions the two of you take next, you will always find each other’s lives interwoven. your time together comes back to him in winter harshly, washed over by the snow. whatever time he spent with you and will spend with you must feel idyllic, like the freedom of cold wind sweeping through the skies.

✯ she lovesss coddling you, moreso in words of affirmation and physical affection, in exchange for your care and attention. out of everyone on your list, she and V are most likely the most touched from your characteristics and values. as i get to know you better, i start to think that for mystic messenger V might quite honestly be the better pick between him and jumin. since she cant truly embrace you, she hooks an arm around your shoulders or neck instead, and practically drapes herself on you lol. everyone is pretty strong in the DWMA, so of course you can bring her around! i feel like she’d also break some protocol and sneak into your bag in her cat form in order to stay by you lol. and you let it happen, because its ok, even if stein punishes the two of you

✯ she’s a bit of a prideful person, and you’re a very charming person, so she definitely likes showing you off to the other witches and people she knows well. its a brag— look who i managed to pull! not only that, your senses of fashion are both very darker toned, which means a lot of correlating outfits.

✯ as a witch, puppetry is a topic she is very accustomed to. other things in your hobbies that involves more motion like dancing is something she is very passionate towards. are you on the school’s team? she’ll watch allll your games and wear your jerseys! not only that, she also enjoys shopping and parties! it really helps that you’re an extrovert, so she doesnt feel like shes dragging a reluctant lover around and feel bad! your determination really inspires her, and the fact that you’re spouse material does not help in how she becomes clingy with you in the mornings! she’s going to steal all the sweets you bake and eat all the food you’ve cooked. having heritage in so many cultures, i’m guessing you have a plethora of knowledge in different kinds of dishes! she really enjoys that, and becomes a truly spoiled cat.

✯ this man right here plays the hell around before actually starting to do anything with you at all. not only that, he’s a bit of a tsundere. good thing you’re patient, because this man is making you wait. he himself is a ghost, so time runs differently for him. in his gaze, you have already lost (you won)

✯ this is the other bantering relationship — the two of you have legendary back and forths, qi rong throwing together vulgar responses on the spot while you use your vocabulary to destroy each other. when you get verbally aggressive because of his provocation reaching too close, he didnt expect you to get that riled up. he had expected you to be reluctantly tolerant at first like that fucker xie lian, but, you really werent kidding when you said you’re confrontational like this. he thinks its attractive in all honesty.

✯ that aside, you are a very helpful hand that he has always needed — and while he dislikes it, he also appreciates your optimism — its something he has lost in the many years he has been alive. not only os a good for him, children should not be raised in such a hostile environment like he already put guzi in, even this ancestor already knows. you’ll be a good model for both him and guzi to follow. especially in fucking hygiene and dressing, he needs a shower, i just know it, especially with the raining blood.

✯ i think you guys would be traveling buddies, hopping from place to place. theres always a question that pops up here and there on your journey; can ghosts truly be good people?

they can they can, of course they can

✯ lowkey, this relationship does not start well (anything with belphie never does). he murders you (tf) and tension is still high, but very slowly, you wiggle into his heart the same way you did to the others.

✯ most of the time he just sort of basks in your presence, maybe using your shoulder or your lap. he’s sleepy all the time, so he gets agitated quickly. you do this thing called the jax effect in which you calm him down and relax him just by being near him, maybe holding his hands or stroking his hair. the way it is described makes it more akin to relaxing a pet or a child, but dont worry, its nothing like that. many of your interactions are very emotionally charged because of how the both of you are. many of your dates just consists of the two of you lying in bed or just somewhere inside his or your rooms together doing your more calmer hobbies. he’s definitely up for walking around from time to time, mostly to make you happy 😃 drag him around while you’re out and dont feel bad, he likes you talking his ears off. for how tired he seems, hes always able to recount all your words and the like.

✯ mainly its your sense of humor that makes him stay. he loves how outspoken you are, your mischievousness and slightly rebellious streak. bel will not be able to stand someone who allowed people to walk over them like a carpet, even if its from time to time. he’s one of the seven lords of hell— as long as you are with him, you are nigh untouchable by others. only by way of curses and the shit you and his brothers get in is he left more helpless. but yes, he gets very happy around you, even snuffling his giggling from time to time. he especially would like you if you have the guts to go against lucifer and stand your ground. he doesnt want to take a lover who he must be fragile with; someone like you is perfect, who also gives him room to grow and learn about you as a person. he can trust you.

✯ of everyone’s futures she sees, yours hurt the most. but, it isnt about that right now.

✯ aponia adores every aspect of you. she is a woman easily endeared by your bold personality, yet you seem to be embarrassed very easily sometimes. gossip? she finds that cute instead - you just want to know things occurring around you, not to actively spread any malevolent information, isnt it? not only that, you seem to get amped up sometimes; shes the perfect balance to settle you down! especially when you’re feeling tired or down, she knows all the ways to help you feel better, only partially to do with her abilities.

✯ spends every moment she can to really take in all of you. i think the two of you align very well in personality, and she can easily understand what you are going through and offer aid. she’s definitely got killer moves too, and i think she would love collecting figurines or stuffed animals with you together— if she ever gets some limited edition figure when you did not, she will give them to you!! ceaselessly! dont try to decline, she insists that her collection also is yours. she likes to do that cheek nuzzling thing, or rubbing your back ❥ having her as your partner, you truly must have done more than a hundred major good deeds in your past life.

✯ she’s definitely got some painting skills. i can see the two of you drawing together under the shade on the patio, or getting clay stained on your shirt. the smell of romance is like spring in this manner, petrichor, clean laundry. i can see your parents very much approving her. out of all of the matchups, aponia is definitely the favorite for your parents. nobody can truly hate her unless its out of envy.

✯ of course the two of you bake together! cooking, baking, sharing secret recipes over the countertops and swiping the flour from your cheeks. you two bake a lot of bread together, milk bread, sourdough; a lot of excess sweets is set to a side to cool, to bring to your friends and neighbors later.

✯ unfortunately, i’m not that caught up for genshin yet for his lore too, so i hope i characterized him properly!

✯ i feel like in genshin you’d have a hydro or pyro vision, both very complimentary to work with his cryo, just like how your dynamic would be blended in softly with one another. i think the two of you starts out as close friends, the type where he thinks of you slightly as a little brother figure, but in the type of way the best i could describe to be a younger friend calling someone older brother or sister in korean&chinese. someone who he is open to give guidance to. as the wheel of romance starts turning, i would liken him to be quite flustered at this development based on your character.

✯ wriothesley is an immensely chilled person, humble, persuasive, observant. his dynamic with you would be like aponia’s, however with other developments attuned to the two of you specifically. for example, he would delight in sharing teatime with you, the baked goods you have made serving as a small powerup for his mood! not only that, mornings will be spent in calming ease. wriothesley seems like the type to wake up early by accident, and many times the two of you stay under the blankets until duty calls.

✯ what strikes him immediately when he first met you was of your treatment to the melusine. the catalyst of his own amiability towards them was of their displays of kindness when he needed them most. so whenever he sees someone like you, he gets slightly curious. the way you keep his attention, is with the different way you seem to go about things and interactions. looking at you sucking in a breath before approaching your next target is, by heavens, very wholesome to watch.

✯ he likes running his hands through your hair. it just feels right to say. does your love for the cold weather and drinks apply to pleasant coldness in general? wriothesley naturally runs cold, and hopes you dont mind it when he holds your hand. normally, he takes bis gauntlet off to do so, but perhaps it is still a bit too much…

✯ while he finds not much enjoyment in seeing the arts, he loves your creativity and making art with you. knowing the languages and instruments you’ve learnt, he enjoys the process rather than the results. he wants to know anything at all you would want to share.

if it isnt too much to ask, what vision do you think i would have?

✯ the most wholesome pairing award goes towards this matchup! this is another one where im not too confident in in terms of writing, aone and you give off childhood friends vibes, with you stepping in to voice his opinion whenever he pulls back to avoid more conflict. usually, by the time you finish speaking, the other party is deterred because of your passion instead of being riled up by it, leaving no furthered argument to be held. aone admires this greatly, since you make sure it stops there. i think he’ll balance out your fervor too, with his presence comes a presence of calm that grounds you before you spitfire at the other person.

✯ his friends definitely tease him about how he managed to date you! cmon, an expressionless brick of a man somehow got a lover before them! how is this possible? what is your wisdom, great aone?? not only that, the two of you look a tad bit comedic together if they compare the two of you in their minds, but standing next to each other in reality, it doesnt look so bad!

✯ at first the two of you are both shy, but because you seem like you both want to know one another better, it gives off a more flustering and endearing aura with the way the two of you interact. you warm him up with your energy, and the two of you get along well! i would think the two of you are the type to sort of sign up for cooking classes together for the first date OR working together in home economics, and become hyper-focused while collaborating. the dish turns out amazing in the end! the two of you high five with both hands in satisfaction. that’s the best way i can describe this relationship, filled with floating happiness and contentment. especially if you make him sweet chestnut paste!

✯ playing volleyball????? you play volleyball?? and other sports?? he’s so delighted on the inside. please practice with him when you can! getting some advice from someone you can trust really does feel very different than just regular tips.

✯ this works out. it definitely does. i know you have patience, and that definitely applies to when you love someone too. you are like the light he sees at the end of the tunnel, who blazes in and shoots away at the evils that plagues his mind. not only are you of character to help him immensely with your thoughts and values, everything turns his emotions over into turmoil. your presence disrupts that into rest, a dissipating tempest.

✯ he is absolutely an annoyance with his fixation on rika. he’s probably compared everyone with rika at one point, and is reminded of his guilt. timid, fainthearted, and too loyal, he knows his shortcomings well and thinks you deserve better than what he can give you. and he is right, for the present. as of now, he cannot give you anything worthwhile, but his own existence is something worthwhile to you. often times, its annoying that he burdens himself without telling others. how could he? as a friend you help him turn his gaze into getting better instead, and with your words, show him how communication is so important. alright enough about fixing him.

✯ v finds you to be a charming individual. he feels very lucky to be surrounded with people who are different, yet all hold compassionate hearts— especially you. one day, he will open his heart again for you to take, and he knows you’ll be gentle with it. that said, you are very different otherwise from the others. he is worried about your shyness during the parties, but you have done well, and as you invite them again and grow closer, relations are better than ever!

✯ he also has always held a distinct love for the creative arts; especially your likes for photographing pretty things. he wants to understand your emotion and character through the art you create, and is very proactive in support you through your hobby. at one point he decides to try out painting himself as a way of sorting through his emotions with your aid. he likes keeping some of your sketches with him near his breastpocket. the two of you led a very long and happy life after all the drama and the pain, carving a road together for the future you deserve together.

[theother9tenths]

Later, Sylvain would blame Lorenz.

Not since long before the war had he had occasion to dress up, or even wear anything nicer than a new set of armor, not that fashion was ever a particularly special interest of his.

But it was Lorenz’s.

“You cannot wear your old academy jacket to a royal wedding, you oaf!”

One frenzied trip to the marketplace later, he stood gazing at the gold embroidery on the jacket he’d been forced to purchase in the mirror. Although mildly chagrined at the cost, Sylvain had to admit that he looked good.

He fiddled with the cufflinks on the jacket as he walked out the door and two rooms down, pausing to knock before returning distractedly, growing annoyed that they would not fasten, as the door opened.

“Can you help me with these? Gah, they’re worse than corset hooks, it’s ridiculous,” he asked, still trying to solve the issue himself. After a moment of silence, he finally looked up.

Felix stood before him in a formal navy blue coat with silver accents, hair down and tied back, much more neatly coiffed than his typical style. His expression was unreadable as he stood there wordlessly.

“U-uh.” Sylvain started, floundering slightly before clearing his throat and dawning one of his trademark flirty smiles. “Heyyy. Looking good.”

Felix stared for a moment longer as if contemplating something. Then, gesturing to Sylvain’s outfit, “Fancy.”

“Thanks. Lorenz. You?”

“Annette and Mercedes.”

“Looks good…” He’d said that already. “Really good-“

“Let’s just get this over with.”

His arm was yanked as Felix quickly fastened his cufflinks before stepping out into the hall. “Come on,” he said before stalking off and allowing Sylvain to fall into step beside him.

The wedding was as grand as one could expect for the couple, although Sylvain had a feeling that if Dimitri and Byleth had had their way, it would have been an elopement followed by a dinner with mainly just the Blue Lions. From his seat alone at one of the many grand tables, he watched guests shuffle around the great hall, lit up with candlelight and twinkling accents. It made his heart ache with familiarity to see them all there - Mercedes and Anette marveling over the dessert table, Ashe and Dedue chatting jovially, no doubt catching up, Ingrid dancing with a young boy who was clearly having the time of his life - It had not even been a year since the end of the war, but getting to be back with everyone in one room was something that he hadn’t known would ever happen again.

It was cliche to say so, Sylvain knew, but he’d truly never seen Dimitri as happy as he was with Byleth by his side. And though he’d not known Byleth for nearly as long, he could tell the feeling was mutual. A sentimental smile crept onto his face as he observed them dancing, faces soft as though they were the only two in the whole world.

With a sigh, he leaned back and took another sip of his drink. Around him, bodies spun whimsically, clothed in colorful finery. He’d long since conceded that wearing an old school jacket would have been a bad idea, and cataloged a Thank You to be delivered to Lorenz when he was not flirting with the new king of Almyra. He called it banter; Sylvain called him a liar.

His trail of thought was interrupted by the sudden press of weight atop his shoulders.

“Let’s get out of here.”

He froze for a moment, then smiled fondly. “Oh come on,” he told the weight, not daring to move as though it were a cat that had just perched on his lap and trapped him in place at its leisure. “It’s a good party. Are you even trying to have fun?”

“I can think of about fifty things that are more fun,” replied Felix’s uninterested voice.

Sylvain continued to hold his pose while his love stood behind him, arms crossed and casually draped over him, afraid to spook him. Since they’d revealed their relationship to the Blue Lions, Felix’s behavior toward him in public had not particularly changed, except on rare occasions when Sylvain was treated to his proclivity to express emotion through touch, which he found he liked decidedly better than when he tried to express it through sparring.

“You’ve gotta at least be a little happy for them,” he insisted. Felix responded by making a decidedly ungracious noise.

“Only because I know that Byleth is capable of killing him if he ever goes off the rails again,” he grumbled. “Can we just go?”

Sylvain huffed, a mild chagrin creeping into his tone. “Why do I have to go? If you want to go to bed that’s fine, I can always join you later.”

“Are you fucking stupid?”

He did not elaborate any further. He also did not move to shift his weight off of Sylvain at all. Sylvain sat for a long moment before it clicked.

“…Oh,” he finally said.

[btower3689]

You Are Sheol . 3

What had occurred on this day that had not occurred in 5 billion years?

This is the question that plagues Zamariel’s mind. 

He blooms as the conductor of the greatest orchestra in Heaven, his brethren singing in perfect harmony as they spew sweet praises to the ineffable God. The songs are magnificent as they always are and always will be. Zamariel leads the Cherubim with absolute grace. 

Fate has a cruel sense of humor, at least, that’s what all the Angels say. Zamariel never really believed that until today. In fact, he had always held the opinion that Fate was quite merciful. She had allowed all that had ever been to be. She had given Zamariel the ability to exist, he was infinitely in Her debt for that. 

Yet today, Zamariel wonders if Fate is watching him now, laughing maniacally at his misfortune. For all the good graces She’s bestowed him, She now takes his deepest vulnerability and twists it into an abomination.

Today, for the first time in 5 billion years, Zamariel makes a mistake. It is a miniscule one that would never be noticed by even the most masterful musicians. But Zamariel knows that there is no room for mistakes in Heaven’s choir. Someone noticed. 

Angels are able to be many places at once because they are many things at once.

When we observe him from this angle, Zamariel is skillfully conducting the greatest music in existence in the second sphere of Heaven. 

But when we shift our perspective ever so slightly, he can be found on Earth, watching you hop out of the silver SUV and walk cautiously over to the police car. There, a female officer says a few things to you before lifting you inside and getting in herself. 5 seconds go by, then the police car pulls back onto the road and starts down the hill to the town.

“You must believe that I have not doubted you for even an instant, Fairest Beauty of Divine Music, Archangel Zamariel,” someone speaks with great reverence as they approach Zamariel from the darkness of the woods. 

He is a blinding light that oscillates from purple to yellow. He has not taken the effort to prepare a human form. 

“Forgive me, Saint of Beauty, for I wish not to question you. I cannot understand the nature of your actions. For I am the Guardian Angel of humans born in the time that extends beneath my ray. I maintain the natural order of things as intended by Fate. Why have you gone to efforts to interfere with my kin if not ordered to you by God?” 

Zamariel turns his gaze towards his brother who shrinks under the intensity of his mystifying eye. 

“My dear brother, Mebahel, do you see the Mother Moon is still at perfect peace?” he replies with an almost agitated tone. Mebahel confirms. 

“-and do you see that the Great Sky and Earth have remained separated? Do you see that the Father Sun has remained in orbit around us on this rock, and that the stars still remain suspended in the Cellestine?” 

Mebahel confirms once more. 

“Then it must be so that Fate has not been contradicted and that the natural order remains unbroken. You speak doubt unto Her. Do you truly believe that Fate did not account for my actions on this day, simply because you did not?”

Mebahel does what is the equivalent of a bow. 

“You mustn’t misunderstand my intention, Zamariel. I only seek understanding to illuminate my ignorance, I did not… mean to-”

“Speak it not to me,” Zamariel interrupts. “Commence your consolations to the source of your offense.” 

With that, the light that is Mebahel fades into obsoletion.

…

[sebastianthegiraffe]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Nobody tagged me in this (because I never get tagged in anything) but I thought it would be interesting to do. I saw this circulating in the Clone Wars fandom, but I know it's in other places as well.

1.How many works do you have on AO3? Only 9, but I have hundreds of WIPs on my hard-drive, most of which are like one tiny passage or a summary that will never go anywhere. My brain is an ideas factory and it cannot be stopped.

2.What’s your total AO3 word count? As of January 2024, it’s 176,227 in total, but 122,240 of that is across two works: - The Greenleaf and the Son of the Forest (83414 words) - In Our Brothers We Trust (38826 words)

3.What fandoms do you write? Currently, Star Wars (Clone Wars/Bad Batch era) and Hobbit/LotR, though I used to write a lot of Kylux stuff (Star Wars Sequels), but the WIPs span everything from Cats to The Witcher to Pirates to Narnia. Told you, the ideas factory never stops.

4.What are your top five fics by kudos? - Frost-Bitten – 171 - Alphabetically, I love you – 167 - Force Fed – 137 - Scars and All – 89 - Ruby Red and Jet Black – 75 Which means that my two current projects (Greenleaf and IOBWT) don’t make this list, because they have 37 and 54 kudos respectively. It’s all my old Kylux stuff that gets the top spots, but I do approve of the top score. Frost-Bitten is one of my faves.

5.Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I usually respond to the first few comments on any given fic, because I’m just so excited that somebody read it and it resonated enough for them to write me a message. I do save all the AO3 notification emails though and I read through them sometimes when my writing is driving me nuts.

6.What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I don’t actually write angst all that much. I’ve had angsty chapter endings sometimes, but it’s never that bad and it usually gets resolved.

7.What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? They’re all pretty happy, what can I say? I’m a sap and I like a nice wrapped-up story with a happy ending. The ending of Frost-Bitten is probably my favourite though.

And despite the chill of the Knight of Winter’s lips on his, the Lord of Autumn melts…

8.Do you get hate on fics? Not to my knowledge. I’m aware that most of what I write is headcanon that got away from me though, so it’s not most people’s cup of tea.

9.Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Nope. Kissing and cuddles is as close as we get, maybe a bit of non-sexual BDSM is it’s needed.

10.Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest crossover you’ve ever written? I was on t’internet when the whole Tangled/HTTYD/Brave/RotG crossover was a thing. Some very pretty art out there, let me tell you. And I do have what would have become a giant AtLA AU in that, but I’ve never done anything with it beyond a few passages.

11.Have you ever had a fic stolen? Sometimes when I was in high school, or just finished, there was a site that copied a lot of fics from FF.net, under the same usernames and everything, but I think the site was taken down? Not sure, either it way it was only old Cats fic on mine so…

12.Have you ever had a fic translated? No. I could probably do it in German or Spanish, it would just take me forever.

13.Have you ever co-written  fic before? Who would want to play in my silly little sandpit? Only me, I tell you.

14.What’s your all-time favourite ship? I was reading a lot of Malec stuff at one point, or Geraskier, and a lot of SamBucky/WinterFalcon just after Falcon and the Winter Soldier came out. And Kylux, way back when. I don’t really have a favourite ship though, just a lot of ones I like and will happily read.

15.What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I’m not going to say Greenleaf, because I will make myself finish it. The wider universe that Greenleaf exists in though, I probably won’t ever truly be done with (White Knife, Silver Flame). I’m like Tolkien in that respect.

16.What are your writing strengths? Characterisation and getting into characters’ heads. I write lots of little dialogue pieces and odd passages for how characters interact, most of which never see the light of day, they are just writing exercises. I also try to never delete anything, if a passage isn’t working out how I want it to, I just move it to its own document and keep it as a reference. Sometimes it’s an excellent bit of writing, it just needs to go somewhere else.

17.What are your writing weaknesses? I find it really hard to write in one fandom if I’m watching the content for something else. I can’t write Star Wars if I’m watching LotR for example. Music and soundtracks are usually okay though, just no music with words or I get distracted.

18.Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I do it in both of my current projects, but I always provide a translation at the end of the chapter. If it’s little things like petnames, I think it’s fine and it can add a sense of authenticity to the world. You can do a larger passage in another language, but it can be jarring to the reader if it’s not worked into the story in the right way.

19.First fandom you wrote for? Cats, the musical and original movie, not that 2019 monstrosity. We don’t talk about that.

20.Favourite fic you’ve ever written? I’m actually really enjoying writing IOBWT, which is my Domino Survives AU. It’s fun getting to explore what Hevy and Cutup and Droidbait might have been like if they survived past Rishi, the same as Fives and Echo.

Greenleaf is also fun to write in parts, because I’ve loved Tolkien’s world since I was like ten. But it’s a battle getting the chapters out at the moment, just because of how the story’s structured.

Favourite thing I’ve ever written? Frost-Bitten, which is a Kylux Fantasy Seasonal AU, where Hux belongs to Autumn and Kylo belongs to Winter. It’s very cute and fluffy and it’s one of only a few pieces of my earlier writing that I can read and not cringe at.

I'm not going to tag anyone in particular (I don't get tagged in things so I don't know who I would tag anyway), so if you find this and fancy doing it, knock yourself out.

[just-a-wondrous-wanderer]

"Before the coffee gets cold..."

Just three days ago, I turned 25, and out of all the years, this one had me the most excited about my birthday. Perhaps it's because I've read that our frontal lobe is fully developed when we reach the age of 25, and I am genuinely looking forward to finally making sound decisions, as many years were spent being indecisive. HAHA, for real!

This year also marks the first time I celebrated it outdoors. In previous years, my birthday was always during an exam week, and when I graduated, the pandemic hit, forcing us to stay at home. Considering it's my silver year (25-ish, tehee), I was truly ecstatic. I received gifts from my friends and countless birthday greetings.

On the first day of being 25 years old, I made it a goal to finish the book "Before the Coffee Gets Cold," a gift from Danica. At the beginning of the year, I had written down my goals, one of which was to finish four books. I had four books on my list, but I hadn't found the energy to finish them all. However, this book given to me felt like a good omen, assuring me that I could still achieve that goal. Maybe my inner self is healing, haha.

The book was fantastic. Though I got the impression that some might find it boring, if we truly absorb its message, it isn't. In a nutshell, the book is about making the most of the present moment and not letting fear of the future or regrets hold you back, which is very relevant to what I am experiencing right now. The days following my birthday felt okay. It wasn't as lively as I had imagined, as there were moments of vibrancy followed by stillness and solemnity. But the thing about being 25 years old is that if I were to compare it to my younger self, I might have found myself in a pity party, defeated by loneliness. But now, I am fully aware of what triggers me, and I know exactly how not to be defeated.

A thing… Well, a person who once made me happy now turns to making me sad. Out of all the birthday messages I received, the one that my mind always wanders to is nowhere to be found. The one that my mind remembers so much did not remember me. And I don't complain so much; instead, I validate my feelings that I am experiencing. If this had happened before, I would probably be questioning myself, and the growing insecurity would have flourished. But now? There's a shift. I realize that I am capable of so many things to give. I have so much love to give. My intention will always be pure, and there's nothing I have to change just because the other person cannot meet me halfway, thus giving only mixed signals when I am certainly centered.

"If you could go back to the past, who would you want to meet?" My younger self would probably have a lot of options, and the number one thing that she'd do is the thing she thought she could have done. But the version of me now? I won't force myself to change a thing. Maybe I will try to see what would happen if I said or did a different thing. I will also be intrigued about the future, but the difference now is I know I won't weep and blame myself. I will now move on and remind myself of my worth. I know fully now that there are things that are beyond my control, and if something is meant for me, it will never pass me by. I just have to focus on bettering myself, making my goals real, and increasing my faith in God.

I hope that this… this new era of myself will be wiser. I hope I won't get back down by my old mistakes of self-doubt. I hope that I will have the patience to wait for things to happen. I hope I will be the person that I always long to be. I hope my intention will never hurt anybody. I hope that I will still have the love I pour into people. I hope I will always have the courage to stop things that are no longer serving me or the courage to continue when things get tough, or even in the simplest things… even after the coffee gets cold.

Here's to another year!

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part I

Ahh I can’t believe it’s finally done! After a year of working on this beast, it’s finally ready for me to share. This is something I started way back last summer, and I decided to finish it as my project for this year’s @geraskierbigbang. It will be ten parts in total, and I will post one part per day until it is complete! There are several art pieces that were created by the wonderful @herostag​ and Miranda.draws for this story, which I will link when the appropriate section is posted. For a summary and further links, please see the masterpost.

Next | Ao3 | Masterpost

“Alright,” Geralt said. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Yennefer looked up at him with bright eyes, curious and already mirthful. She was sitting across from him in his quarters, reading through a tome she’d found in Kaer Morhen’s disheveled library. Geralt had just come from a bath after hours spent training Ciri in the yard, and the room was filled with the warm evening light, supplemented by the fire crackling in the hearth. Yennefer had insisted on carting dozens of tapestries and drapes to hang around the drafty keep, and the room was nearly stuffy with their bulk keeping the heat in.

Yennefer gave him an amused smirk. “I will make no such promises before I even know what you’re going to say.” The gentle teasing brought a fond smile to Geralt’s face. After the events of the mountain all those years ago, things had been understandably tense. Yennefer had been reluctant to join them when she had finally met up with Geralt after Sodden, but had eventually agreed to seek refuge in the witchers’ keep and teach Ciri to control her magic. Once she’d met the girl it had all been a wash; it was clear as soon as their eyes met across the room that Yennefer was as much a part of Ciri’s destiny as Geralt was.

Geralt had expected that to either mend the rift between them enough for things to go back to the way things were, or make things even more awkward. Instead, they found themselves in a sort of in-between. Over the years his affection for Yennefer had only grown, but he found himself looking to her more and more as a friend—maybe his best friend. After Jaskier, of course.

Speaking of. “I was thinking about Jaskier.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes obviously. “As you are so frequently wont to do. The thaw will come soon enough, dear, and you can run off in search of your bard.”

Geralt felt his ears grow warm. Witchers couldn’t blush, not truly, but he still felt the tingle of it as he fidgeted with embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, absently tracing a finger against the grain of the wooden table. There were two goblets of wine sitting between them, but so far neither of them had begun to drink. “Do you know how many winters it’s been since I found Ciri?”

If she was confused by the odd turn in subject matter, Yennefer didn’t show it. Instead she looked thoughtful. “Two, perhaps three? You know I don’t follow the seasons with diligence.”

“Neither do I,” Geralt agreed. “I was thinking the same though, two or three years since the fall of Cintra. Which means Jaskier is…” He paused, trying to do the math. “He was a few years past forty, during the dragon hunt, I think. He must be closer to fifty now than not.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow at him. “I recall mentioning something about his crows feet. What of it? Humans age. Are you only just discovering this?”

Geralt forced himself not to grumble. In a way, he was only discovering it. He’d known humans across the years, of course, and knew that many that he’d once been acquainted with were no longer alive or were in their twilight years. For decades Geralt had wandered through the world, changing no more than a ghost would, touching the lives of regular mortals for a brief instance, maybe a few times if they were particularly unlucky. No one had stayed by his side, dedicated themselves to a relationship with him, the way that the bard had. The amount of devotion that Jaskier showed to him had made Geralt antsy, in earlier years, and then confused and angry by turn. He had hated the idea of someone needing him, had hated needing someone in return. The way his chest felt heavy when he and Jaskier parted ways had left him furious with himself and the bard.

And then Ciri came into his life, and everything had changed so quickly.

With Ciri, it didn’t matter whether Geralt felt like he should care for her, or if he wanted to. He needed to. Without him, the girl would die, or be kidnapped by Nilfgaard for who knows what purpose. He had to feed her, and clothe her, and teach her, and he had to love her for her to thrive.

She made it very easy. It was only afterwards that he realized how much of an idiot he’d been to Jaskier, and the thought of how he’d treated the bard over the years had plagued him. It had been months before he could find him to apologize, but Jaskier forgave him almost immediately—which Geralt found both relieving and infuriating at the same time. This was the first winter they’d spent apart since. Geralt left the keep more rarely now, heading out on the Path only when the months grew truly warm and returning at the first hint of falling leaves. Ciri was safe on her own, he knew, but he missed her when he was away. And he could admit now that one of the forces driving him back into the world over the last few years had been the itching desire to find Jaskier again and settle the yearning in his chest for another year. He was less inclined to venture forth when his bard, his daughter, Yennefer and his brothers were all in one place.

This winter Jaskier had begged off, saying that he had “work in the south,” which could mean anything from spending a decadent winter in the court of some noble or sludging through the front lines as a Redanian spy. Geralt had learned not to pry too deeply into Jaskier’s business when he wasn’t around. It was often either too explicit for him to stomach or too confidential for Jaskier to share freely.

It worried him, being away from the bard for so long. He could get hurt, or captured by Nilfgaard, or worse. But what really terrified Geralt was the idea that he would find Jaskier in a tavern along the Path and realize that the bard had grown old, to find silver in his hair and wrinkles beside his eyes. “He’s getting too old,” Geralt said to Yennefer, who looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

“You must have known when you started travelling with him that he would eventually leave you,” Yennefer said, not unkindly. “Humans are so short lived.”

“I didn’t exactly get a choice about becoming his muse,” Geralt said with a huff. Despite his improved relationship with Jaskier over the past few years, he still found it difficult to admit that he had always been more than willing to let the bard tag along. If he’d wanted to travel alone, he would have. But he never had. “I just didn’t realize…”

“It always comes sooner than you think it will,” Yennefer sighed. She set her book aside and picked up her goblet of wine, turning to look out the large window their table sat in front of. It faced west out of the keep wall, towards the mountains and the forest beyond. The sun had set below the craggy peaks, throwing the snow covered valley below into darkness. Geralt could just make out the ruins of the old tower, its stones dark against the white landscape. “You can’t cure his mortality, Geralt.”

“We did.”

The look that Yennefer gave him was sharp, almost angry. The firelight in the room turned her violet eyes darker, like mulberry wine. “At great cost,” she snapped. “I can’t imagine you would put him through the Trials.”

A stab of panic shot through his gut at the thought. “No. Of course not. He wouldn’t survive it anyways. Only children stand a chance at all.”

Yennefer nodded, apparently satisfied that Geralt hadn’t completely lost his mind. “The boy hasn’t got an ounce of Chaos in him, in spite of his rather chaotic nature, so I highly doubt they’ll accept him as a late trainee at Ban Ard.”

“There must be other ways,” Geralt said, feeling petulant. “Less conventional.”

“I cannot believe we are actually discussing this,” Yennefer said, rising to her feet. She picked up her book from the table as well as her glass. “There is no way to achieve immortality, especially not without sacrifice. You know that, Geralt. Drop this foolish line of thought.”

Geralt rose after her, reaching out to catch her retreating wrist. A grasp loose enough that she could break it, if she wanted, but Yennefer paused. “Please, Yen. Just… look into it for me? I can’t—the thought of—” He cut himself off, dropping his hand away from her arm. The look she gave him was more pitying than he would have liked.

“I’ll do some research, but nothing more. Don’t get your hopes up, Geralt. There’s a reason there are so few of us,” she said. Her face softened slightly, as much as it ever did. Despite Ciri, Yennefer was still made of more glass and fire than anything else. “I know you love him, even if you can’t admit it to yourself. I promise, I will do my best.”

Geralt nodded wordlessly as she left and wondered if Jaskier's eyes would be as bright next time he saw him.

*

For weeks Yennefer said nothing about his request, and Geralt refocused on spending time with Ciri and preparing to depart for the spring. Lambert and Eskel had already left a month before, as soon as the road down the mountain began to thaw, but Geralt had hung back. The roof needed repairs, a difficult job to do in the midst of winter, and it was a hard task to leave for Vesemir alone. It was always like this, now—him looking for odd jobs to keep him at Kaer Morhen, with Ciri, making excuses until Jaskier’s jitteriness or Vesemir’s raised eyebrows forced them on the road again. Some of that was mitigated this season by the silence he heard when he found himself listening for the sounds of lute strings strumming gently in the background, and Geralt’s increasing anxiety about Jaskier’s wellbeing. Even so, it was hard to leave Ciri behind.

The girl was progressing rapidly as she entered her teen years, the chubbiness of her youth morphing into lean if awkward muscle as she continued to work on her swordsmanship. When Geralt and his brothers weren’t pushing her through drills, she was studying monsters and alchemy with Vesemir, or practicing her magic with Yen. She never seemed to tire, eagerly absorbing any lessons passed on to her and desperate to prove her worth. The only person she seemed to let her guard down around was Geralt, who found himself often goading her into mock wrestling matches (which he refused to throw on principle) and humoring her when she became restless and wanted to explore beyond the keep. Kaer Morhen was dangerous in the winter, but as spring approached and the deep snows on the surrounding mountains began to thaw, the duo spent more and more time trekking through old ruins and sleeping beneath the stars.

He could put off his journey south no longer.

“I’m going to be fine, Geralt,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. He wondered if he’d been this petulant as a teenager. Certainly Lambert had. “I can take care of myself, and Yen will be with me.”

Geralt tapped her wooden training sword with his own, indicating that she should prepare to go again. When he was a boy he’d trained against the other foundlings, stumbling around like pups through drills and sparring matches. Ciri trained against full witchers, and only Eskel ever faked a misstep here or there to allow her to get in a good hit. When she won a fight for the first time, it would be on her own merit.

The girl raised her sword into a decent fighting stance, and Geralt moved to correct her footwork. Her sword work was exceptional above the belt, but she consistently forgot her stances, throwing herself off balance. They’d begun putting her on the pendulums to force her to focus, dancing between posts to attack the dummies. Geralt had spent many a night rubbing salve into her bruised shoulders, gained from taking fall after fall from the low poles. No one forced her, but if there was one thing Ciri hated, it was admitting to weakness in herself. “Sword up,” Geralt said, and launched into his attack.

He stayed on the offense, forcing her to practice the defensive drills they’d started going over recently. “I know you’ll be fine,” he said, continuing their conversation. His breathing was relaxed, almost meditative through the slow exchange of blows. “Just seems cruel to leave you with only the old man and Yennefer for company.”

Ciri giggled despite herself, and Geralt found himself grinning back before he smacked her lightly in the ribs with the training sword. She swore—Lambert, Geralt thought with chagrin—and danced back a few paces. “Gotta focus,” he said, still smirking at her.

She poked her tongue out at him childishly and reposted off of one of his blocked attacks. He easily swayed out of the way, but the movement was fluid and smooth, which meant someday it would be fast, faster than he could dodge. He gave an encouraging nod.

They continued to spar for another half an hour or so before breaking, heading to the well to fill their water pouches. Geralt sat on the short ring of stones and Ciri slumped on the ground beside him, leaning against his leg. The simple trust and familiarity she exhibited around him still took him by surprise, sometimes. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said, rubbing a hand over the top of her head. Her hair was almost as white as his.

She sighed, wiping dripping water from her chin as she tossed her water pouch down. “I figured,” she said. “Say hello to Jaskier for me, when you find him? I missed his songs this time.”

Geralt’s caress turned into a playful ruffle. “I will. Any requests for books?”

“Ones about Elves,” she said immediately, “and Skelligan alchemy. It’s different from ours, did you know? The Druids—”

Geralt chuckled. “I know. You’ve said half a dozen times. No fairytales this time?”

The girl hummed, reminding him for a brief and touching moment of himself. “Just bring Jaskier back. He tells about your adventures so much better than you do.”

“He’s certainly made a career out of it,” Geralt grumbled, feigning annoyance. “I’ll do my best. You know how he is.”

“You missed him too,” she said, hitting his knee with one closed fist. “I know you did. You get all…Well, more grumbly and mopey than usual, when he’s not around.” She wrinkled her nose up at him in exaggerated disgust. “It’s gross. But I do want you to be happy.”

Geralt knocked back against her gently with his knee, swallowing around the feelings that rose in his throat. “You just think I’m a boring old man who won’t help you put toads in Eskel’s bed. But you never even ask. I’m the expert, not Jaskier.”

Ciri laughed, bright and crisp in the morning air, and Geralt felt warm despite the fading winter chill. Tomorrow he would leave, and he would find Jaskier, and next winter he would tell Jaskier that he had to stay at Kaer Morhen. For Ciri, if nothing else. And if it was more for Geralt’s sake than anything, well, no one had to know.

*

Yennefer found him before he left, saddling Roach in the stables.

“Go to Triss,” she said by way of a greeting. Geralt knew what she meant by the gravity in her tone and the tension sitting in the corners of her mouth. “Ask after Ida. I don’t know where she is or if she’ll speak with you, but a Sage is the only one that might be able to give you anything.”

Geralt reached out to grasp her hand firmly in his own. “Thank you, Yen,” he said honestly.

The sorceress sniffed. “Well, you owe me one, I suppose. I hope you find what you're looking for. But be careful.”

“I won’t do anything that might put him in harm’s way,” he promised. “I swear it.”

“Good.” She gave him a slight smile before leaning in to brush a kiss over his rough cheek. The simple touch warmed him from inside out. “Say hello to the bard for me. Tell him I heard about that disastrous competition in Vizima. Ought to have him stewing for a good long while.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’ll give him your love as always.”

“Goodbye, Geralt,” she said, patting his arm lightly. “Be safe. You know how to reach me, if you have need.”

“I do,” he said. “I will. Take care of Ciri.”

“It’s more the other way around, I’m afraid,” she said with a soft smile, and Geralt understood exactly what she meant. Ciri had saved them both, in more ways than one. Every time he left her was more painful than the last. Someday, he knew, they might travel the Path together, a witcher, a sorceress and their daughter. Maybe even a bard, if he was extremely lucky.

Geralt hoped he would be.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Crimson Gods

Pairing: vampire!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: non-con, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of death and suicidal thoughts, allusion to breeding.

Words: 2362.

Summary: Living in the world where most lands are governed by the Noble, ancient vampires who shed human blood simply for their own amusement, you try leading a quiet and secluded life along with your mother. Sadly, you aren’t prepared when a vampire comes to your town.

P.S. When I was younger, I really, really loved Vampire Hunter D. I watched the movie again yesterday, and here’s the result ahahah. 

______________

It was way past midnight, but you couldn't force yourself to sleep, tossing and turning in your comfy bed while thinking of your travel tomorrow. You were supposed to leave the town for the first time in years to visit your grandmother who lived in the Northern Frontier Sector, and now you dreamt of how you were going to embrace her, kiss her cheeks despite her scolding you for not behaving properly in public. You hadn't seen her in 7 years. After the incident, you had never even once left the town, and your grandmother could hardly travel so far due to her age. Of course, you kept exchanging letters, but how could a cold letter, though written with great respect, replace a live communication?

While you kept wondering how your encounter would go, all of a sudden it felt cold under your cozy cotton blanket, and you reluctantly got up to take a huge comforter out of your heavy wooden chest. Why was it freezing tonight even with the windows closed? You were just in the middle of September. To be honest, you hardly remembered the last time the weather was so bad as you wrapped a comforter around your trembling shoulders, thinking whether you have to take your winter nightgown instead of light muslin one you were wearing now.

Throwing a glance at your window, you saw the frosted panes and furrowed your brows, refusing to believe it. Dear Lord, you lived in the Western Frontier Sector, not far to the North! Was it really going to snow out of nowhere tonight? As you moved closer to look at an empty street, you realized that a huge cross on top of a building on the other side started crumpling with a disgusting sound as if it were made of paper, not pure silver to protect citizens from the creatures of the night. Several crosses on the buildings down the street had been destroyed, too. Quickly, you looked down only to find the flower beds withering within seconds despite your beautiful roses blooming just a couple of hours ago. Now they all turned black.

You stilled on the spot, unable to believe your eyes and covering your ears from that horrifying noise. You had only seen something like that once, and it was the time when most villagers had already been dead, turned into beasts without a soul who craved for blood as much as their masters did. That night you had lost your beloved father as you fled your house in a rush, just a little child back then, and, once you arrived in the town, had never even once left your new home.

The crumpled crosses, dead flowers and a sudden temperature drop could mean only one thing: a vampire had come to the town. It wasn't some upyr, oh no, it was one of the Nobles, maybe even an Elder if you were unlucky.

Dear Lord, what a Noble wanted in a peaceful town like this? There were neither treasures nor mechanisms of the ancient, nothing that could potentially interest a Noble. Except that they might be simply eager to shed human blood for their own amusement...

Before you screamed at the top of your voice to wake up everyone around, you heard the sound of a large mirror in your room breaking, and then felt somebody's strong grip on your throat despite no one being in front of you. The world turned black before you uttered a single word.

_______________

Moving a heavy crimson curtain a bit so you could look out the window, you gasped, watching the corn fields far beneath looking like neat pieces of cloth. The view was incredible! You had never seen anything like this before, though you certainly didn't remember travelling in such fine carriage ever before either. It was truly stunning, made of black steel, shining in the sunlight as if it only been made yesterday. Steven laughed when you said it out loud, explaining that this carriage had been more than a century old. Apparently, the Nobility's carriages were miraculous since you couldn't find even a single scratch on the surface.

"Be careful, sweetheart." The man behind your back said, gently bringing you closer to him and further from the window, curtain falling back and hiding the two of you from the outside world. "Night does not fall yet."

"Forgive me my curiosity. I have never seen anything as magnificent." You smiled sheepishly at the handsome blonde-haired, blue-eyed man in a long black cape with red lining.

He let out a low chuckle, taking your hand and kissing it briefly while you forgot how to breathe for a second, deeply embarrassing by such outpouring display of affection. You lead a rather quiet secluded life in the town, pretty much never being around men of your age: your mother was going to choose a respectable husband for you herself, so you never worried about it before. Now, however, you felt ashamed for being so close to a man despite loving him dearly. Oh, what would your mother say if she saw you now? Wouldn't she be worried? Would she approve of your marriage to a No-

You blinked as you stared at the handsome man's pale face, feeling all your worries fading away. As long as you stayed with the love of your life, nothing else mattered, right?

"If that is what you wish, we will travel by air a lot more right after I present you at Western Frontier Court, sweetheart." His deep, silky voice made you let out a nervous chuckle as you felt your cheeks growing hot. "My, aren't you adorable?"

"Please, Steven, stop it!" You furrowed your brows as he grinned at you, baring his sharp fangs you paid no attention to. "I cannot believe I am getting married to you so soon. It feels... strange. A little unsettling."

"And why is that?" There was some wariness to his voice.

"It's just... I have never imagined myself being married to anyone. Surely, I thought of having a family at some point, but it was so distant. I have never even pictured myself close to a man, let alone a High Lord like you." You admitted honestly, biting your lower lip and averting his gaze. "You have never been married before, too, have you? Aren't you frightened even the slightest bit?"

"A little." He answered too soon, yet you disregarded it as well. "But I have no doubts we will make a good couple, sweetheart. I will cherish you like no other man ever would."

Embarrassed to the point your face was on fire, you decided to drop it, not knowing how a nobleman like Steven Grant Rogers could have an audacity to say such things. He was completely shameless! You hoped he was going to be more reserved while presenting you at court; you pictured your grandmother fainting if she heard him speaking like now.

What was Western Frontier Court like? You had never been there, not than any human ever could: as far as you knew, not even all vampires could serve the Nobility living in the high castle surrounded by mountains. You heard its peaks were covered with snow all year round.

"Have the king ever visited your castle?" You suddenly asked, back to your curious self.

Steven's face became even paler. "He did on several occasions, but it was a long time ago way before I was even born. I have only seen him once, and I do not think I will ever forget this encounter."

"Oh, is he as frightening as the legends say?"

"You cannot describe it with words, sweetheart. But do not be worried, he had been asleep for more than a thousand years now, and he surely won't wake up just to attend some Noble's marriage." A faint smile twisted Steven's lips as he drop a soft kiss to your forehead. "Actually, please do not refer to him as a king. The Nobles call him the Great One."

"Oh, I see. Thank you." Nodding, you turned your face back to the window covered by a crimson curtain, biting your lip again. "Can I watch the sunset a little? I won't be long, I promise."

"As you wish, sweetheart. Please come back to me once you are done, it is going to be a long night."

Gesturing to the large black coffin laying in the middle of your carriage, the man brushed his cold soft lips against your cheek and got up from his seat, smiling at you watching him. You remembered being very unhappy once you learnt there was only one coffin: you had never thought you would lay close to your betrothed with your head on his chest before your marriage. How terribly bold it was of Steven to make you sleep so close to him! However, you were content he had never even once tried touching you inappropriately, always treating you with respect: he said he admired your purity and innocence while not many Noble women were bothered by them.

Once he got inside the coffin, you lifted the curtain again, squinted as rays of bright light pierced the darkness of the carriage. Oh, how incredibly beautiful was the sunset in front of you. You had seldom seen such lovely sight as this. Would you miss the sun once you reach the high castle? You surely would, you thought. Hopefully, your betrothed would keep his promise to travel with you, and when he fell asleep during the day, you would walk in daylight all by yourself.

As you kept staring at the bright sky coloured in orange and pink, all of a sudden you thought why did you have to live in the high castle with Steven while your home was far away from the white mountains, in a little human town where you spent the last several years. Oh, right, you were engaged to the Overseer of the Western Frontier Sector, the highest Noble guarding the lands where you were born and raised. He was a peerless warrior and a fierce leader, a vampire respected by other Nobles.

A vampire? Steven was a vampire? Why would you be engaged to a vampire, let alone the Noble? The Overseer of the lands you were born and raised, the one who had taken advantage of those poor humans living in the Western Frontier Sector and let other Nobles ravage your cities and villages, destroying everything on their way.

You were engaged to the vampire overlord, a ruthless, cold-blooded being who could wipe out every human in these lands if he desired so. No, he was not your betrothed, the man you promised to marry willingly. He was the one who kidnapped you from your own bed at night, casting some spell over you to make you forget who you were.

You clamped a hand around your mouth to stop the pathetic sounds you were making as you cried, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. Dear Lord, why was the Overseeker doing it to you? What could he gain from this cruel game? Seemingly nothing, except for having some fun with a silly human girl. But that what the Nobles were doing once they got bored, wasn't it? No, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction, you thought, happy you were given a chance to escape - even if it cost you your own life, it was still for the better.

"The Overseeker of the Southern Frontier Sector did, not that I expect you to know. Now, please, come back here. You had enough time watching the sunset."

You couldn't believe your eyes, watching him say it with such confidence. Was he willing to keep playing his twisted game even when his sweet facade fell?

"Why do you pretend as if my death matters to you? You will kill me soon anyway. Does it bring you so much pleasure to murder one more pathetic human?"

"I won't kill you, sweetheart. It has never been my intention."

There was something to his voice, some emotion you struggled to describe that made you feel bitter and regretful. Was it all truly going to end like this? You were so young, supposed to have your whole life ahead of you, now faced with a choice to either let a vampire consume you or jump out the carriage and fell to your death.

"Than what was it? I assume you have been living for more than thousands of years. Aren't you a little too old for playing these games still?" You chocked on a sob, barely containing your tears as you trembled in front of the Overseeker.

"I am not playing a game." He admitted tiredly, suddenly taking the black glove off his hand. "All I wish for is a loving wife who can bear my children and bring peace to my lands. I have been wandering human cities for a great while before I found you, strong enough to carry a dampiel after a few genetic enhancements. Please, do not struggle. I have not come to make you suffer eternal torment."

For a couple of seconds you stared at him with your mouth slightly open, unable to utter a single word. You had expected the vampire to say anything but this. Was it still a game? Now you hoped it was because even being drained till the last drop of blood was better than carrying a dampiel, a child of both vampire and human, feared and loathed greatly by both races. When you recovered, however, you quickly turned the door handle and pushed the door, willing to wait no longer.

But the door did not give to your pressure. To your horror, it stayed still as if it were a solid piece of steel.

Feeling the iron grip of the Overseeker's fingers on you shoulder, you yelped as he dragged you back to his coffin with force, closing the lid before you had a chance to escape. The next second his fingers were on your neck, suffocating you before you lost consciousness just like the night when Steven Grant Rogers kidnapped his human beloved.

______________________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @lovelydarkdaydream @ninefuckingoneone @jaysayey @megzdoodle​

[music-of-dragons]

AGOT Dany V

I love this chapter, but it's so sad...

Loose Key for organization:

● Summary ○My Thoughts

● Chapter 5 opens with Drogo setting the Stallion heart before her, it's time for the heart eating ritual 🤢

○ Dany once again thinks to herself that she is the blood of the dragon to give herself strength when feeling uncertain.

● Dany must eat all of the heart and retch up nothing or else the omens for her child will be less favorable. She completely finishes the heart and proclaims that a prince rides inside her in her best Dothraki.

○ Dany is becoming more familiar with the language and appealed to their culture to garner support for her unborn son! She practiced the phrase for days, she is dedicated.

● Khal Drogo himself is tense as they wait in silence for the prophecy of the crone.

~"I have seen his face, and heard the THUNDER of his hooves...as swift as THE WIND he rides, and behind him his khalasar covers THE EARTH, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. FIERCE as A STORM this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The BELLS in his hair will sing his coming, and the MILK MEN in the STONE TENTS will fear his name."~

○ This is the prophecy of the Stallion who Mounts the World, and I believe that the Stallion is actually Daenerys. The prophecy has some very specific imagery which I capitalized for emphasis. So first off, THUNDER, FIERCE AS A STORM, Daenerys's given name is Daenerys STORMBORN for the great storm she was born in that smashed the Targaryen Fleet and held off the Usurper's knives. Second, swift as THE WIND can have 2 meanings. Dany called her silver the wind when she was gifted her, she will also eventually become a dragonrider who flies on the wind. Third, Dany wears bells in her hair long after the death of Khal Drogo, her handmaids add them after each victory, so Dany's coming may very well be sung by the bells in her hair. Fourth, the MILK MEN in their STONE TENTS are the people of Westeros, Dany has plans to conquer Westeros. Once word spreads of Daenerys Targaryen coming to conquer Westeros with her dragons, her name will be feared. The Stallion prophecy will come to pass, so if not Rhaego, who? His mother. The crones sensed it but assumed it was her son cause patriarchy. She will grow from broodmare, to Stallion.

●After the heart eating ritual, Dany, Drogo, and a procession of Dothraki walk to the Womb of the World. Dany bathes in the small lake while the crones watch her and murmur among themselves, then she emerges dripping and shivering.

○ I think the womb of the world will come into importance later in the story, when Dany is decreed the Stallion, but that's for another chapter.

● After the events at the womb of the world, everyone returns to Khal Drogo's hall. There are many foods and drinks being cooked and served, and one of those foods mentioned, is a pomegranate! Dany thinks to herself that she knows no arakhs will clash this night due to the sacred laws and customs of Vaes Dothrak forbidding steel and bloodshed. Dany invites Jorah to sit and talk with her. She learns from him that Viserys tried to steal her dragon eggs.

~Dany had not known, had not even suspected. "Then… he should have them. He does not need to steal them. He had only ask. He is my brother… and my true king."

"He is your brother," Ser Jorah acknowledged.

"You do not understand, ser," she said. "My mother died giving me birth, and my father and my brother Rhaegar even before that. I would never have known so much as their names if Viserys had not been there to tell me. He was the only one left. The only one. He is all I have."

○ I think Dany's response to the news of Viserys trying to steal from her is very telling of her character. She never stopped loving Viserys despite everything he did to her. He is her only living family and she feels that she owes him so much for protecting her, raising her, and telling her the stories of Westeros. It wasn't until this next moment that everything truly came crashing down.

● Viserys comes striding in looking a mess, drunk, overly confident… and wearing a longsword on his belt. The Dothraki are already throwing curses and angry mutterings are all around, the music dies. He has broken their sacred law. Khal Drogo exacerbates his fickle state by telling him his place is with the lowest of the low, furthest from the fires. Drogo says in the common tongue, ~"Is place… for Sorefoot King. A cart! Bring cart for Khal Raggat!" And the hall erupts in laughter. Viserys tussles with Jorah before he is knocked to the floor, then finally draws his blade.

●~Dany gave a wordless cry of terror. She knew what a drawn sword meant here, even if her brother did not.~ Dany is terrified for Viserys, she knows that what he did means death. She BEGS him to put the sword away, to join her on her cushions, she offers him food and drink and even her dragon eggs, so long as he puts away the sword. Viserys turns the blade on Dany, pricking her stomach with the end of the sword. He threatens to cut out Drogo's "foal" and leave it for him. ~Viserys was weeping, she saw; weeping and laughing, both at the same time, this man who had once been her brother.~

○ That last line is so depressing. Dany never stopped thinking of Viserys as her brother until the moment he threatened her son. Dany loves and values Rhaego over anything else, she found happiness and purpose in her pregnancy. When the one who was supposed to love and protect her threatens to kill who she loves most in the world, she could no longer tolerate his abuses, and could no longer see him as her brother. It's heartbreaking for her.

● ~Viserys smiled and lowered his sword. That was the saddest thing, the thing that TORE at her afterward...the way he smiled.~

○ There is no doubt that Dany mourned her brother after his death, no doubt. She mourned for the brother he used to be, not the man he became.

●The next moment has Drogo holding Dany as his men sieze Viserys. By this point, she only refers to him as "the man who had been her brother". She describes Drogo not even looking at "the man". When Jorah tells her to turn away, she say no, and folds her arms over her stomach protectively. Viserys gets his golden crown after screaming that he was THE DRAGON and that no one could harm him. ~He was no dragon, Dany thought, curiously calm. Fire cannot kill a dragon.~

○ Dany's lime about Viserys not being a dragon is an abuse victim coming to terms with the death of her abuser. Viserys struck terror into her heart from the time she was a child by telling her she "woke the dragon" and hurting her. She feared him, she was meek and submissive because of him, she bent to the whims of others who saw her as nothing because of him. When that image finally crumbles before her, she is in shock. She had just gone from pride and happiness, to terror for the life of her brother, terror again for the life of her own child and body, to withdrawn acceptance of the situation at hand. Viserys was never a dragon in the way that he used it. A dragon by blood, but not in character. That's what Dany meant.

Art by Ted Nasmith!

[ktheist]

in another life (i would be your man)

muses. hero!yoongi / assassin!yoongi / father!yoongi / lawyer!yoongi

word. 2.5k

genre. reincarnation au

x

time and time again, you find yourselves in the other’s absolute mercy.

mercy, which both of you know, the other will not grant.

“have you any last words, hero?” the grass shrivels up around yoongi all because hot air wilts the greenest of life.

a single bead of sweat trickles down the side of yoongi’s face as he looks at you without a shred of fear in the face of death.

“all the gold you’re hoarding... does it bring you happiness?” he says, as though already finding serendipity before you can even drive your talon into his chest.

“happiness!” you roar, mockery dripping off your word, “such humanly sentiments. you forgot who you’re speaking to, hero.”

“yoongi... yoongi’s my name” he sighs softly, eyelids fluttering shut, “say it.”

it is you who fall silent this time.

to say the name of the soul who’s bound to you not for love but for destruction... have you the right?

in your last life, a good few hundred years ago, he’s the one that drove the cross into your chest.

in the one before that, you burn him at the stakes for the wretched powers he held.

in this lifetime, even the armor made of the silver cannot withstand the weight of your paw, talon digging into his chest as he lays underneath you, ready to accept the heroic death.

“very well, if not in this lifetime, then perhaps the next...”

you live for three human lifetimes as the great dragon who brought the continent together. the humans, without their hero, are mere mortals. they learned better than to put their faith in one man.

in the next lifetime, you find yourself kneeling in front of a silver haired man - what a striking hair color for someone who’s supposed to be on the low.

“my hand’s gonna slip,” that gravelly voice still sends shivers down your spine.

“what-” you breathe out, eyebrows knitting together.

he takes his aim.

but there’s something wrong.

the angle he’s pointing at will graze your cheek and ear at most.

then he shoots.

when the bullet bounces against the cement somewhere a few inches away behind you, your body moves on its own. your leg sweep out to send him tumbling down onto the ground. your thighs pin his hips down so he can’t get up and you push the gun farther beyond his reach.

“why are you doing this?” you hiss, knife against his throat.

“don’t you think we owe it to ourselves to be happy?” yoongi says simply, too complacent for a man who’s about to lose yet another life to his enemy.

“that’s not how it works,” teeth gritted together, you press the dulled side of the knife harder against his snow-kissed flesh.

“then, how does it work?” he asks.

for a moment, you’re frozen in place. then you’re taken back to where it all begins.

you were a queen who poisoned her king before proceeding to ruin the kingdom until it remains but a memory to those who’ve lived through your tyrannical era. yoongi was the crown prince from a small country who enticed you into his chambers and kept you locked in a tower like a caged bird while he went to war with the neighboring kingdom with your kingdom’s army.

“i- i hated you for seducing me and locking me up in that tower,” you murmur, breath shaky, “a- and you hated me because i-i couldn’t be killed... because i was...”

“a blood sucker.” he finishes for you.

a flash of anger crosses your eyes and paint your vision red. you press the knife harder - no doubt there would be a bruise, “no matter how immortal i was... i died because of a broken heart. you killed me!”

“i was breaking my own heart for having to keep you locked in that tower but if i let you go...” he trails off, his hand coming to settle on yours.

it’s the first time you hear him choke up.

“so many died because of our love,” yoongi’s voice comes out barely above whisper.

“your sin is mistaking hate for love,” you flick your wrist, switching the side of the blade pressed against his neck to one that could cut through clean and swift.

but before you can seal yet another lifetime of your surviving, a sharp pain cuts into your arm, forcing you to release the blade, your free hand cupping the familiar circular wound that’s gushing with blood.

you push yourself off him, going over the ledge and jumping off to your safety. and yoongi’s left in the cold, night air, the coms in his ear buzzing back to life.

it’s six months later that he finds you, dressed in deep red, smiling seductively as you cling on a man twice your age. all of a sudden, he finds himself ignoring whatever his partner’s saying in the coms and approaching you and the man.

yoongi can barely remember what he said but he remembers the overwhelming feeling of relief when the man pushes you off and march out of the room, shouting russian vulgarities.

“planting a bullet hole in my arm isn’t enough, you just had to sabotage my mission, don’t you?” you’re on top of him once again but the ground isn’t cold and hard as he’s always remembered in the series of you pinning him down in differing lifetimes.

“have you thought about what i said?” he doesn’t look like he minds it anymore.

being pinned down by you, that is.

rather, yoongi quite likes the view of your cleavage when you lean down close enough to whisper into his hears, “i reflected on my past mistakes... and truly, i wish nothing more than to have you gone from my sight once and for all.”

then his index finger ghosts over the softest protrusion of the healed up scar on your arm. and you feel goosebumps on your skin.]

you leave in the morning, slipping out of the hotel room in that skin tight maroon dress, noticing the woman in the lobby, looking like what you would’ve looked like if you were waiting for your partner who went against orders and checked into a room in the very same hotel he was supposed to eliminate his target at.

sloppy. fucking sloppy.

yoongi never sees you after that. he got reprimanded and almost got eliminated by his own agency if it hadn’t been his father, the head of the extermination department who pulled some strings and buried the matter.

it’s a surprise he’s still alive at the age of of thirty-one, owning a lawfirm of his own and living the life he’s never thought he’d have.

a normal one.

then, he spots you, walking down the sidewalk holding a toddler’s hand and smiling down at him like he’s the most precious thing you’ve ever hold dear to.

“stop the car,” yoongi orders.

“s-sir?” the driver, surprised by the sudden request, hesitates.

“pull over!” it’s the first time the young man has ever hear his boss raise his voice.

so he does just that, but a block away from where yoongi last saw you.

he runs as fast as his legs could carry him. but the sidewalk is empty of a woman holding a child’s hand.

it takes another year of him searching records of faces and names. for you have many and unlike yoongi, he’s sure you have no one to pull the strings and make one blunder disappear.

then he finds you, under a pseudonym, of a certain kim hana whose child is named kim youngsoo.

“it’s me,” he announces, stepping into the light that pours past the window and over not even half of the room.

“mommy, can we order pizza?” youngsoo’s lively voice rings from outside of the room.

“yeah, why don’t you decide what toppings you want and i’ll be out there in a sec, sweetie,” your voice sounds heavenly - none of the guarded strain that he usually hears. but your eyes, they look like the eyes of a woman who would give everything to protect her most precious possession.

“so it was you... one year ago,” you say, ambling to the dresser where yoongi easily finds out your motive.

“the gun’s not there anymore, you really think i’d break into the house of an ex-assassin and not think to look for weapons tacked up somewhere out of sight?” he hears the frustrated sigh you make before you stand with your feet apart.

looks like you believe his words.

looks like you’ve got no problems taking him on with bare hands.

“he’s mine, isn’t he?”

a scoff.

“you’re pretty dumb if you think one night’s all it takes to get pregnant with your bastard child.”

“who’s the father, then? why isn’t he around?” he presses on.

and his questions have always been intrusive but you notice the weight of his every inquiry. as if he’d drop dead right this instant if you don’t answer them.

“he walked away, couldn’t accept that we had to always be on the move just because he had a baby with a wanted woman.”

and it’s not the police that wants you.

“his social security number?” yoongi shoots you another question.

“i don’t know. i don’t remember,” you say simply, a shrug accompanying your answer.

“number one rule of being an assassin: never forget anything,” yoongi recites easily, even after five years, he still recalls the drilling his mentor forced him through, “so that leaves us with one possibility: he doesn’t exist, this ex of yours.”

“mooooom.” youngsoo calls out, sounding too close for comfort.

“just a minute, sweetie. why don’t you take my phone out of my bag and get ready to dial up the number to the pizza place?” there’s a lightness in your tone.

envy wraps around yoongi’s heart before he even realizes it. how he wished you’d speak to him in that delicate, loving tone as well.

“look, i’m tired, i’m done playing games, i’ve been done since that night. i know i fucked up and i know some day i’ll pay for it but not tonight... tonight... at least let me have one last night with my kid.”

it’s the way the word ‘my’ and ‘kid’ fall naturally off your mouth that makes yoongi realize that he’s the one stuck in the beginning all along. that he’s the one who couldn’t move on from the past even though he sought to change the present and threw your world upside down when he decided not to take the shot.

before he can say anything, you’re already out of the door but he senses no rush in your footsteps.

“do you have the pizza place’s number down?” there it is again, the soft, tender tilt in your voice.

it’s a little faint but he hears it clearly.

and it may very well just be a trick to make him sympathize but what is he to sympathize with when he’s only here to ask for confirmation?

why do you treat him like death who’s finally come to take back your borrowed time?

well, the answer was simple.

“i paid off the bounty,” yoongi meets you at a cafe where he knows you’ll feel safer.

no assassin will make a move in broad daylight, in public, with his face out for the cameras to record.

“how much?” you sound like you just got another loan tying you down.

“enough that they can’t resist,” he states.

and before you can even say anything, he goes on, “i want to see him.”

“no.” you say curtly.

“he’s my child too.” he slides the white envelope he pulls out of his pocket to you.

it contains the dna results from the hair on the comb youngsoo complained he lost and yoongi’s own hair.

“he’s doesn’t need a father,” you don’t even give the envelope a second glance, “if that’s all-”

“that’s not for you to decide on your own,” he cuts you off.

it’s the firmness in his tone that makes your eyebrows rise. min yoongi has always been a gentle soul. even when he was driving a cross into your heart, he’d done it with the heaviest heart.

and for him to place his foot down like this - how very unlike him.

which is why, when he pulls, you pull harder.

“if you so much as appear in front of youngsoo, we will disappear and i’ll make sure you’ll never us again.”

and with that, you take out the blank check from your purse and slip it over to him. the check and the envelop laying side by side.

money isn’t the issue, you’ve managed to wire every single penny you have to different bank accounts before the agency could even freeze the one in seoul. it took several trips to japan, hong kong and china but you eventually got enough to start a new life with your new life.

and that new life of yours is being shaken by the presence of an entity of the past.

you begin noticing the men and women dressed in plain clothing standing a few feet away from where you and youngsoo go. they’re there, acting absolutely normal which makes it unnormal. always watching, always being on guard as if their lives depend on you and youngsoo’s security.

it goes on for another three months before you finally get tired of it and approach one of them, “call your boss over.”

youngsoo’s blowing bubbles at the park when a sleek black car pulls up at the curb and a familiar face steps out.

“you can see him every week on saturdays, one no-show and you’re out. also- i decide when he finds out,” you set the rules and yoongi looks like he a little kid who’s about to perform at his school’s talent show, “do we have a deal?”

“absolutely,” he nods readily.

yoongi’s hand moves on its own and he almost hooks his index finger around your pinky finger as if asking for some kind of emotional support. but he stops himself.

he walks beside you, watching as you walk out from under the shades of the tree, your expression instantaneously brightening when the sunlight hits, “youngsoo-ah,” you wave the toddler over.

his little legs comes running towards you, curious, bright eyes staring at yoongi and right through his soul. he’s never felt so bare and defenseless.

the only thing that keeps him from running away is the fondness in your voice. and the smile on your face that he’s never seen before, “youngsoo-ah, this is uncle yoongi, he’s mommy’s friend...”

yoongi musters the best smile he can - he never needed to try. it’s the people around him that force smiles to please him. never the other way around. never him having to smile so he wouldn’t scare off his son.

he crouches in front of the child that’s partially hiding behind you, “youngsoo-ah, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

[smoochkooks]

— lost stars, part 1 (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst, (troubled) idol au, childhood friends to lovers

⟶ word count: 20k

⟶ summary: in dead hours of the night he stumbles upon the bars, reaching, searching, trying to feel something, for once forget about consequences and taste the bittersweet freedom. between sips of addiction and faint touches of nameless lovers he finds you again: his own long-lost star on a blackboard sky.

⟶ warnings for part one: explicit sexual content, dom!jungkook, rough sex, oral (m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, degradation, light breath play, unprotected sex, infidelity, mentions of mental health issues, smoking, drinking etc., this is sad im sorry

⟶ music: lost stars, young god, the hills and more here. 

PART TWO (FINALE): HERE!

Jungkook can’t sleep.

Moonlight is gradually slipping through the unveiled curtains that he hasn’t even bothered shutting out for the night, letting the silvery luminescences gleam over the expanses of his room callously. It's the first full moon of the month, an argent king on the cloudless sky preventing many people that particular night from falling asleep.

Jungkook lays on his bed, long body slumped on unmade, messy sheets. Brightness illuminates over his features, making his skin glow in porcelain white. Every edge of him is chiseled. From his thin lips, through the slope of his nose and paleness of his forehead, Jungkook might be a beautiful imitation of a marble sculpture. Although he isn't, heaviness of his limbs and suffocating pressure weighting down on his chest like tons of rocks make him feel like one.

Digital clock on his bedside table reads midnight, four red zeros signaling change of the date. It's so painfully silent in the confines of his room, yet Jungkook doesn't sleep. And it's not because of some scientificly proven theory connecting insomnia to the full moon. He hasn't shifted on his bed since he laid there an hour or so ago. He stares blankly at the ceiling, inhaling the chilly air of March flowing inside through the open window. There is without a doubt too cold to lie uncovered like that, with bare legs and thin t-shirt thrown on, but he doesn't seem to care, not when shivers run down his arms, not when the sudden puff of wind blows the strands of raven hair off from his forehead. He stays like that, hands folded on his stomach, eyes glued to the silver lights on the ceiling, and time ticks.

Jungkook doesn't remember when was the last time he has gotten some good amount of sleep in the night. Perhaps it was a year or two ago, when after particularly hectics days it took him only a few seconds to fall into the peaceful slumber as soon as his cheek met the cool material of his pillow. A lot of has changed since that; it's bitterly oblivious he has changed too. His insomniac tendencies are only a small part of the whole spectrum.  

Jungkook doesn't wish the sleep to come and cure him. He has stopped a long time ago, when he realised it's just pointless. There are times when it gets better, when he doesn't need to nap uncontrollably during the day instead of doing that while it's dark out. Tonight seems like one of those dead end situations. Maybe after a few hours his eyes will tire out enough to flutter shut on their own accord and bring him the awaited couple of hours of mindless numbness, and the sun will raise again, as it always does.

However, that night, like many of them before, Jungkook doesn't wait helplessly.

A sigh and a minute later, he kicks off the sheets and stands up from his bed, walking to the nearby closet. He puts on the first pair of black jeans he manages to find and replaces his worn out t-shirt he wears to sleep with a new, fresh one. He flicks the lights on for a brief moment to examine himself briefly in the mirror. He needs haircut, loose strands are falling on his forehead and he swamps them off, running his fingers through the black locks. He looks even more tired in the artificial lighting of his room, definitely not like the marble sculpture, certainly not like the spot-on idol this country loves and admires. The skincare products his stylists have given him to put on his face everyday are doing a quite good job, but not good enough to fully hide the bangs underneath his eyes. This kind of magic only stage makeup can provide.  

Now, Jungkook looks painfully ordinary. He isn't Jeon Jungkook of BTS, he doesn't want to be during nights like this one. That's why he fishes out of the drawer his black mask and puts it in the pockets of his denim jacket. There is probably too cold outside to go out dressed like that, but Jungkook doesn't falter.

He doesn't falter opening the door to his room and stepping into the dark hallway of the dorm. He doesn't falter putting on his shoes as silently as he can. He doesn't falter reaching for the knob to the main door and twisting it. Even if he has promised he won't do that again, that the last time when he came home at ungodly hour, smelling of sleazy bars and cheap alcohol, with faint reminiscences of the touches of nameless lovers on his skin, was truly last.  

Even if the pang of guilt is still there, at the back of his head, when he exhales the air of the night, it fades away.

If someone ever asked Jeon Jungkook to describe freedom, he would say it smells like Bongcheon Underground Station.  

He’s never been there before or at least he doesn’t remember doing it. The sign indicates it’s the line number two, a green one to be more exact. He doesn’t know in which part of the city he is, maybe half an hour away from the luxurious housing estate he lives in with the rest of the boys, maybe further. At some point during the train ride he's lost the track of time.  

It’s probably irresponsible, careless, unwise and stupid to be a widely-known figure using public transportation in the middle of the night completely alone, but this run-down underground station in Jungkook's head is his own manifesto of mock freedom, consequences to be damned.

Jungkook knows he's risking a lot right now. The sick thirl is already there, boiling the blood in his veins. This is all he has; the mirage of liberty, his own revolt against the unfairness of the world. His testament of lost youth.

Before someone will see him standing on the platform and staring ahead of himself with blank eyes like a mad man, he decides to walk out of the station.  

A young couple around his age passes him on the stairs and he can’t help but spare a glance in their direction. They aren’t aware of his presence, holding onto each other and giggling drunkily. Something squeezes in Jungkook’s chest at the sight. It’s not any kind of jealousy, no. He’s grown up from being a rebel teenager. He’s grown up from the dreams of college parties, going on dates with pretty girls and having late-night snacks with his friends after gaming sessions.

Now Jungkook is just angry. Someone may say he doesn’t have the right to, he has everything an ordinary twenty-two year-old can desire. Yet, Jungkook is the one calling the world unfair while being on top of it.

There is a poster with his face hanging just above the entrance to the station. He stops in his tracks, scoffing cynically. Poster-Jungkook, spot-on idol from the biggest boyband in the country smiles at him, showing a row of blindingly white teeth. He has a face cream in his right hand, the softness of his photoshopped face and boyish glint in the eyes trick thousands of people into buying whatever he recommends.

What would Poster-Jungkook say seeing him now, Jungkook wonders. Barefaced, with mask covering half of his features, ruffled hair that he should have hidden underneath a cap. Poster-Jungkook probably wouldn’t like to make friends with someone like him. Poster-Jungkook is here to sing his heart out, to entertain fans and make his parents proud. Poster-Jungkook has never been at Bongcheon Underground Station.  

With one last glance, Jungkook exits the station, stepping into the streets of Seoul.

The clock on his lockscreen reads 1am, Saturday, March 21th. He reaches to his face, pulling the mask down a little to inhale the chilly air. The smell of nearby Chinese restaurant reminds him it’s definitely a terrible idea to drink on an empty stomach but he shrugs off this thought, walking ahead of himself, with no plan in mind.

It’s not everyday he uses underground to travel around the city like most citizens do. Ironically, this mundane thing is a luxury he normally can’t afford. But nighttime has it’s own rules.

Using his car isn’t a debatable option when he knows he's going to distract himself with numerous sips of alcohol later. He cannot use taxi as well. Not when he hates having small talks with middle-aged men while being half-wasted, half-asleep on the backseat, head buzzing, world spinning. In worst case scenarios, the said taxi driver might be a dad of one of his fans.  

(Yes, it happened before. It caused a lot for Jungkook's intoxicated brain to make up some silly story and convince the poor man he was coming home from his friend's birthday party, not running away from his one night stand's place.)

Asking one of their personal drivers to lift him up somewhere won’t do any good too because one: it definitely isn’t an emergency situation, although Jungkook would most likely argue it kind of is and two: going out in the night is too risky and most importantly, strictly forbidden for him since the last time Jimin found him unconscious on their doormat.  

He wants to laugh at himself, remembering the very first time he tried to sneak out of the dorm without permission.

He was merely eighteen back then and his friend from Busan came to Seoul to celebrate his acceptance into the university. Of course, teenage Jungkook had asked for approval like the well-raised young man he was. That’s impossible, Jungkook, was the answer and I really hadn’t seen that friend for a long time, please, wasn’t enough to change minds and melt hearts. And that was when eighteen-year-old Jungkook decided it was the final straw. He had enough of watching snapshots from his friends, living their teen years to the fullest. He wanted to live too.

He had planned everything in details. Namjoon and Yoongi were at the studio, Hoseok was visiting his family in Gwangju, Seokjin went to sleep early, Jimin and Taehyung were playing video games in their room. All occurrences seemed to be on his side. Until they weren’t.

He announced to everyone he wasn’t feeling well and locked himself inside his room. He waited for the right moment, then opened the door and peeked his head out. It was dead quiet, beside muffled bursts of laughter coming from the other end of the hallway where Taehyung and Jimin were still playing. Holding his breath, Jungkook tiptoed to the entrance.

It felt so electrifying back then, when he took the handle into his hand and pushed, doing something that he wasn’t supposed to. When he found himself taking the cab to his hyung’s place, fingers drumming the unknown rhythm of excitement on his jean-clad thighs.  

It doesn’t feel like that anymore. There’s a rush of adrenaline but not the good kind. What was once a silly rebellion of a boy with romantic soul, is now nothing but a routine.

That night didn’t turn out as he wished. It ended with him getting wasted to the point he had to call Seokjin to pick him up. He still remembers the furious scolding the older one gave him. He remembers how he promised it was a one-time thing, how he regretted his childish actions and irresponsibility.

But it happened again and again. And it got only worse over the years.  

Jungkook keeps marching ahead of himself, looking around the unfamiliar neighborhood. It's a more industrial part of the city; it doesn’t look like leafy, peaceful area he lives in. He can only imagine how the flats inside those buildings look like - cramped, cluttered. Maybe they look just like their old dorm when he was merely sixteen, with head full of dreams, sleeping every night on a bunk bed underneath Taehyung.

Upon seeing a fluorescent, red neon sign, he stops in his tracks. The club looks nice from the outside and even though it stopped being an indicator for Jungkook some time ago, he decides to step inside with the same goal in mind as usual: get drunk and then leave.

Loud, thumping music fills his ears as soon as he enters the building. He passes the mass of nameless silhouettes, heading straight to the bar and slumping down on one of the stools.  

“What can I get you?”  

Jungkook looks up, meeting the eyes of friendly-looking bartender who seems not to recognize him or just doesn’t give a fuck. Both options are more than anticipated when you’re a well-know celebrity who decided to get drunk on a Friday night.

“Doesn’t matter. Just give me something strong.”  

Bartender nods in understanding and Jungkook sees him reaching for the bottle of whiskey and pouring the substance into a glass already filled with ice cubs.  

I don’t even like whiskey, Jungkook realizes. But at the same time he knows he hasn’t come here to sample. He’s here to let loose, to taste the bittersweet freedom this umber alcohol provides and represents. Each sip burns his throat stronger, yet it’s always welcomed.

After the third glass, his head starts buzzing. The world spins a little when he closes his eyes; everything becomes a blurr of colors, shapes and sounds. It’s should be a sign to slow down but Jungkook automatically raises his hand to bartender, ordering another glass.  

He hasn’t even registered he’s not alone by the bar anymore.  

She’s pretty. Maybe not exactly his type, whether he has one or not, but he can’t help but spare a glance anyway. Even in his drunken state he notices she’s a foreigner; blonde locks are cascading down her back and shoulders, milky skin glowing in the fluorescent lights. He doesn’t see her face clearly yet, but he observes in the corner of his eye as she bites her plump, cherry-coloured lips, while staring down at her empty glass.  

Then, his eyes wander lower, to the smooth column of her throat, her provident collarbones and rich  décolltage. Her black dress doesn’t do quite good job covering her cleavage and Jungkook has to swallow at the sight.  

He’s fucked, buzzed and that irritating, tiny voice at the back of his head is telling him to get his shit together but every rational thought is wiped off his mind when the girl whirls around and faces him fully now. She smiles at him, or his blurry eyes are deceiving him already. Nevertheless, he smiles back at her dumbly, doing his best to maintain the enigmatic façade.

“Hi.” he says.

It’s not the first time he’s hitting on a foreign woman. It’s very much asshole of him, but he thinks it’s easier to get laid that way. In most cases he’s not the one to start a conversation, yet this time, here he is.  

“Hi, stranger.” she answers and licks her lips languidly. The raw eroticism dripping from it makes Jungkook shift on his seat. If she wants to play this game, he’s ready to make another move.  

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks. It’s so goddamn blunt and brusque, but always works. Something about his flat English and the way he subtly smirks saying it makes women intrigued.  

She contemplates for a moment, batting her eyelashes at him until she eventually agrees. “Yes, sure.”  

He waves at the bartender, slurring his words a little. He hears the girl giggle and somehow, his next words leave his lips without a second thought.

“You like Korea?”  

She’s very talkative when she’s drinking, Jungkook notices. The question seemed to elicit something in her and she started babbling, spitting her words so fast he couldn’t catch up even if he wasn’t drunk (and knew English better). All this time he smiles at her, nodding his head and occasionally muttering “yeah” and “oh” whenever he feels like it’s the right moment.  

At some point his eyes wander to the other part of the club, where the sign shows the way to the bathroom. The girl takes a sip of her drink, showing a row of her perfectly white teeth when she catches him staring at her. And at this moment, Jungkook decides is time to interfere.

He leans closer to her, his hand ever so slightly brushing the place where the material of her dress meets her thigh. She bites her lip, waiting for his another move. Jungkook is now mere inches from her face, lust swimming in his orbs when he whispers, “You’re so beautiful.”  

She says something to him but he doesn’t register it. His hand is now fully placed on her thigh and when he opens his mouth to ask if she would like to dance with him, he feels a pair of strong hands placed firmly on his shoulders, pulling him away from her.  

“What the fuck, man? What are you doing with my girlfriend?” He hears a male voice saying behind him in English.  

Jungkook blinks, trying to comprehend what have just happened. His head spins from the sudden motion and he feels like throwing up any second. He lifts his head, meeting the terrified expression of the girl he talked to just seconds ago.  

“Are you deaf or something? I’m talking to you.”  

Someone pushes him forcefully again and that’s when he turns around with reluctance, standing face to face with very much pissed off white guy. He’s taller than him and the deep furrow of his brows tells Jungkook he’s in for a trouble.  

“James, it’s okay. We were just talking.”  

“Well, it didn’t look like that!”  

“Just let him be. He’s drunk.”

Jungkook feels like his soul has left his body and now he’s staring at the whole scene from the side. The muffled voices reach his ears but he cannot fathom anything. He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes.  

Another shove at his shoulder coerces him to regain his senses a little.  

“I’m not letting that fucker go that easily until he apologies. Hey, shithead!”  

Jungkook feels hands grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket. And then, when he thinks this is it – Jeon Jungkook of BTS is going to get hammered in some sleazy club by a foreigner because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, because he’s useless peace of shit instead of the It Boy of his country, everything stops.

He knows this voice. Maybe his drunken brain is deceiving him, maybe he’s hallucinating or dreaming because he’s already lying bruised on the floor and unconscious. But he hears you and feels you, touching his arm and saying, “It’s alright, sir, he’s here with me. He doesn’t feel well. I apologize for his behavior.”  

Your grip is stronger than he remembers to be. It hurts like you’re mad at him. But is it really you, dragging him across the room, away from those people through the crowd of sweaty bodies? He squints his eyes, focusing them on your silhouette, but what he sees is merely a blurry sideprofile of a young woman.

“I can’t believe the first thing I do after not seeing you for three years straight is saving your ass.”  

There’s a wave of fresh air hitting his face. He inhales it greedily, hands extending to stabilize himself until he feels the rough texture underneath fingertips. He leans his head on the wall, eyes squeezed shut. Seconds pass, maybe even minutes, until something nudges him on the side.  

“Do you feel better now?”  

To be completely frank, Jungkook is scared to open his eyes. His sanity is slowly coming back to him and he hears you now loud and clearly. Maybe he’s really dreaming but if that’s true, why does he feel like he has a full control on his next move?  

It’s really you. Three years older than he last saw you, arms crossed over your chest and evident frown on your face. He doesn’t know why but he wants to smooth the crease between your brows. It doesn’t suit you. Your hair is shorter, your features sharper and more mature.  

You’re definitely not dream-__. His dream-___ would have scratches on her knees and some fantasy book in her hands. She sometimes visits him at dead hours of the night, asking why he hasn’t answered her calls and messages. Sometimes she stares at him from the photograph he carries in his wallet because he cannot bring himself to get rid of it.

He probably should hug you, run into your arms and thank for saving his reputation. He should hug you because it’s been three goddamn years and you were his best friend once. One of the most important people in his life, his partner in crime (and professional math tutor in primary school). God, you were his first, silly crush when you were merely ten, hair braided and pimples on your cheeks. His shoulder to lean on when he needed to cry. The girl who played football with him because there was no boys in your neighborhood with whom he could do it.

Instead, he asks, “Did you cut your hair?”

The first thing you do is raise your eyebrows, as if you’re genuinely confused he’s able to form full, coherent sentences. Next, you scoff. “Seriously? We meet for the first time in three years in a club where I work because I need to save your ass since you’re completely pissed and tried hooking up with taken woman, and that’s the only thing you have to say?”  

He doesn’t like how you sound already. Your tone matches your expression, stern and slightly irritated. But at the same time, he’s not surprised you’re acting like this.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…” he hesitates. He’s just what? Pathetic? Stupid? Reckless? Or maybe–

“Crazy?”  

He smiles sheepishly. “Yeah. That’s a good word.”

You take a step closer, standing right in front of him. “So are you going to tell me what are you doing in this part of the city, getting drunk while being a freaking idol?”  

“Isn’t it what all celebrities do?” he asks sardonically.

You roll your eyes at that, and he takes a moment to look at you more carefully now. Your cheeks are rosy from the cold and he notices a smudge of mascara underneath your left eye. And there’s another thing he remembers about you; the weird habit of staring at him intensely whenever he wasn’t aware because you were terrible at keeping eye contact.  

But it seems like a lot of has changed in that department and now you’re meeting his eyes without a hint of shyness.  

“Yeah, maybe they do. But not when they have a reputation to take care of.” you counter.  

Jungkook sighs, closing his eyes for a second. It’s still hard for him to produce logical thoughts but he knows he’s slowly sobering, the chilly air clearing his mind. You hug your coat tighter against your body and he wonders for a moment if it’s really that cold outside and he just doesn’t feel it because of the alcohol swimming in his veins.  

He’s not capable of having this kind of conversation with you under those circumstances. While you’re outside of some niche club in a part of the city he doesn’t know, reunited after three years of silence.  

You have that look on your face, the one you used to wear every time he got on your nerves and he was in for good scolding. His head pounds too much to bare with it now.  

He needs to smoke a cigarette.

He fishes a pack, placing one between his lips. He feels your eyes on him the entire time and after taking the first drag, he offers you to light up one as well.

“I quit.” you say curtly.  

“Okay.” The smoke swirls around his features and you take a step back, cringing. You never really could stand the smell.

“Is smoking even allowed for you?”  

He snickers, shaking his head. It’s funny, how you’re asking him this now, when you were the one he used to smoke occasionally with at the docks every time he visisted Busan. Eighteen, listening to Arctic Monkeys and Coldplay on his old iPhone and watching the sky burning when sun was hiding behind the horizon.

Jungkook smirks. “Out of sight, out of mind.”  

As a matter of fact, he doesn’t smoke often. It’s more like a sporadic trespass when he’s out for the night than a regular craving. Leaving aside his favor for cigarettes, he shouldn’t let himself become addicted, not when it might easily influence his lungs capacity. And Jeon Jungkook's velvet voice can’t have a hoarseness to it.

“So, you work here?” he opts to ask you, avoiding the set of questions probably already itching to leave your mouth all at once.

“I do. I actually ended my shift few minutes ago. I had some work to do at the storage room and when I walked out, I saw that guy ready to beat the shit out of you,” you say, grimacing. “To be honest, I didn’t recognize you at first. You looked… different.”  

“I guess that’s what they call the magic of stage make-up.” he jokes but his comment doesn’t make you laugh. If anything, you look even more puzzled.  

Then, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his jacket. He pulls it out just to be met with tens of notifications, mainly texts and unanswered calls from Jimin. He must have found out somehow he’s been gone.

“Fuck.” Jungkook mutters under his breath, locking his phone.  

“Something’s wrong?” You always could read him like an open book. He wasn’t very talkative kid back then and you, somehow, found a way to communicate with him on non-verbal level.  

Jungkook scratches the back of his head, smiling lopsidededly. “You’re going to laugh at me,” he sighs.

“No, I’m not.” you promise. There’s sincerity in your voice but he knows better. You’re definitely going to.  

“I’m scared to come home.” Jungkook says, entirely serious. His doe eyes widen for emphasis and you’re sure he’s shitting you yet you decide to play along.  

“And why is that?”  

He leans closer, smelling of cigarettes and his musky cologne and you almost wince. “Because I’m gonna have my ass whipped.”  

He waits a moment, and then breaks into a grin. It’s his drunkiness still speaking through him and maybe a tiny bit of curiosity how you were going to react.

You snort loudly. “That was terrible.”  

“You smiled. I saw the cornes of your mouth moving.”  

“You’re wasted, Jungkook. I’m surprised you’re standing on your own feet right now,” He pouts and you sigh, shaking your head. “So are you going to tell me what is it really about?” you ask.

He shrugs, blowing out the fume from his cigarette. “I just don’t wanna go home drunk. It will be worse than coming back in the morning, believe me. I’ve been there before.”  

Something flashes across your face hearing his last sentence but it quickly disappears, replaced by your usual, unreadable expression. You seem to think about what he has said, until you exhale loudly, making him look at you with raised eyebrows.

“Fine. You can crash at mine.”  

Jungkook knows he might have misheard you. But you’re still staring at him as if you’re waiting for him to respond. He feels dumbfounded.

“What?”  

“I saved your ass today once, I can do it again. That’s what friends are for, right?”  

He hates how bitter it sounds coming from you. He knows it’s very much what he deserves. You don’t own him anything after all he’s done to you yet here you are. Offering him help even though you don’t have to do anything.

You’ve always been too good for him.

You cock your head at him, a small smile dancing on your features he wishes was genuine. Maybe you still have a sentiment for him, after all. “You coming?” It’s what you ask, and he tosses the half-burnt cigarette, following you without a word.

And that’s how your story starts again, with reckless decision, cigarettes and underground stations.

Ironically, Jungkook ends up at the Bongcheon Underground Station for the second time that night.  

You led him wordlessly out of the building, taking a turn into direction he was familiar with. On the whole ride back to your home, you were silent. You didn’t utter a sentence to him, even when you reached your stop, you just stood up from the seat and he followed you like a lost puppy.  

Walking from the station to your flat, Jungkook decided he’s had enough of this awkward silence, breaking it first.

“So, how have you been?”  

It’s such a stupid question to ask someone you haven’t talked to for such a long period of time. Of course you can’t catch up all that have happened in last three years during ten minutes-long walk. Jungkook bites his lip, peeking at your side profile.

“It’s actually funny you’re asking this now. I’ve been good, and you? Or actually… wait! You don’t have to answer that because I know you’ve been good too, thanks to your mum who is updating mine about everything what’s going on in your life,” you say sarkily. “Oh, not to mention I also have Internet and it’s really hard to avoid news about nation’s favourite boy group, right?”  

Your harsh words make him grimace. He knows he fucked up royally and your bitter attitude towards him is the effect of his wrong doings. Yet, he can’t help but feel a little bit irritated.

“You know I’m sorry.” he mutters under his breath.  

“Oh, are you? Was it really that hard to call an old friend once in a month?”  

Jungkook looks up at the sky, as if he was wishing it could give him strenght and fill his mouth with words that will make your stony façade break just a little. “I was busy,” he answers, regretting it as soon as it slipped of his tongue.  

He hears you scowl. “Busy? Doing what? Drinking and hooking up with women?”  

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Are you really patronizing me right now? We just came across each other and I’m trying to be civil here. We’re not thirteen anymore, loose up.”  

You stop in your tracks abruptly. “I see. You don’t need my help anymore and you’re okay with sleeping under the bridge, fine.” you spit and turn your back on him, quickening your pace.

“What? Wait!” Jungkook calls after you because one: you might be not joking and two: he’s too startled to react in time and now he has to jog up to you. “You aren’t serious, right?” he asks after catching up with your hurried movements.  

You sigh, taking another turn. “God, I can’t believe you’re still that childish.”  

Jungkook frowns. “What does that suppose to mean?”  

“You know damn right what I mean.”  

You’re now walking through a typical, industrial looking neighborhood. He used to live with other boys in an area like this, back when their name meant nothing to the world and industry, when you used to talk practically every single day on the phone.  

Suddenly, you stop in front of one of the buildings, digging in your purse and pulling out the keys.  

Jungkook silently follows your figure when you enter the tenement house you’re living in. He squints his eyes, trying to remember the street name and building number. For some reason he feels like this information might be useful for him sometime in the future.

You quickly climb up the stairs until you reach the forth floor, Jungkook running out of breath with mouth hang open, and that’s when you turn around to face him.  

You don’t say anything to him. You just stare, expression stern yet unreadable at the same time. Your gaze is challenging but eventually you give up, sighing and opening the door to your flat, letting him in.  

The first thing he notices is that your flat is tiny.  

There’s barely enough space for one person in the hallway when you hang up your coat without a word, bumping into his unmoving figure when you’re trying to walk into what is probably the smallest kitchen he has ever seen.  

You pour yourself a glass of water, chugging it greedily while he still stands dumbly three meters away from you, fully dressed, unsure of what to do.

He jumps, hearing you put the glass on the counter loudly. “So, welcome in my humble abode, I guess,” you say. “Are you going to stand there the whole night?” You cock your head into his direction and Jungkook shakes his head, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his shoes.  

“I know it’s small but the rent is cheap,” you add, referencing to the size of your apartment. You don’t need to explain, he wants to tell you but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes wander to the other part of the flat where your bedroom is, as he assumes.

“Ah, yes, that’s my bedroom. And living room, and bureau,” you confirm, voice laced with apparent sarcasm. “Make yourself comfortable.”  

Jungkook hesitantly enters the room. There’s nothing much there beside your bed, wardrobe and a small desk with your laptop and other belongings on. One thing he realises is that you keep everything clean and tidy, despite the limited space you have here.  

“But the view is nice, isn’t it?” you ask suddenly, startling him a little. Jungkook, encouraged by you, glances out of the window and he has to admit that yes, indeed, the view is beautiful. You can see the city quite clearly from the forth floor. “I’m still surprised when I look out of the window and see rooftops instead of brick walls. I guess I’m kind of lucky.” you chuckle.  

That’s when he realises just how much more you deserve than you have. It hits him how privileged he is now, living in a luxurious area for rich snobs and celebrities who look out of their windows and see green hills. And one more time, his anger for the unfairness of this world only boils stronger in his veins.

“I gotta go the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”  

You leave him alone again, and now he has an opportunity to look at the corkboard you have above your desk. There is plenty of photos and polaroids pinned to it and he finds himself examining them without a second thought.

It seems like you have them organized chronologically. They start with you as a little kid standing in front of your house in Busan, front teeth missing and clutching your favourite doll. Next, you’re in school and surprisingly, he finds himself present on most of these photos along with you. Playing football at the backyard, eating ice cream at your favourite parlor (he has smudges of chocolate on his chin but he smiles to the camera like it means nothing). He recognizes a photo he took of you when you where in middle school, dressed as Anne Boleyn for some history project he doesn’t remember what was exactly about.

As years pass on your polaroid timeline, his face is slowly disappearing from your captured memories. He smiles when he sees his favourite photo of you, the one he also carries snuggled deeply in his wallet. It was taken by your mum on your seventeenth birthday. You went on a picnic by the sea and Jungkook surprised you with an unexpected visit, coming home back from Seoul. He gifted you a bracelet bought with the first money he had earned in his life.  

He wonders now if you still have that bracelet somewhere, hidden among many other things reminding you of your past together, just like the creased photo in his wallet he still hasn’t thrown away.  

Then, Jungkook eyes land on the most recent picture. You’re grinning to the camera while being hugged from the back by a man he doesn’t know. He presses his lips to your cheek in a fleeting kiss. An affectionate one.  

“I see you’re enjoying yourself.”  

Jungkook jolts a little hearing your voice. You come up to him and he notices you have changed your clothes for something looking much more comfier. “Remember this one?” you ask, pointing at the photo of you sitting on a beach next to the sand castle you built.  

Jungkook smiles apologetically. “Yeah.”  

“Ten seconds after taking this photo, you decided to ruin my sand castle and made my cry.”

He can’t help but share your grin when your eyes lock. There’s the same sympathy in them he’s grown to known. It feels familiar, almost domestic. He likes it.  

“So,” He nudges your side, pointing with his chin at the corkboard, “care to tell me who is this guy?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and you roll your eyes in response at his antics.

“That’s my boyfriend Minho.” you answer.

Jungkook doesn’t know why but for some reason, he feels uneasy now. He’s mad at himself he’s been really missing out what’s going on in your life. He shakes off these thoughts quickly though, mastering an amusing attitude.

“That was a very poor introduction, ma’am. Come on, you can do better than this. Tell me more about him.” he teases, making you sigh loudly.

“Minho is five years older than me. He’s working as a police officer. We’ve been together for almost a year. Are you happy now?” you grumble.

Jungkook smirks. “Very much.”  

“He doesn’t sleep over here so I don’t have any of his clothes you can change into,” you add awkwardly.  

He furrows his eyebrows. What are you talking about now?  

You shift on your feet, turning to face him properly and now he realises why did you say it. The clothes you have on are actually your pyjamas. Right, it’s almost two. You’re probably sleepy after your night shift and he’s keeping you up. And you’re kindly reminding him it’s time for him to rest as well.

“It’s okay, I can sleep naked.” Jungkook says. Your eyes widen almost comically at that. “Relax, love. I’ll stay with my boxers on. Unless you want to see my without them.” He raises a single brow in question.

You grimace. “Jesus, Jungkook, you’re still drunk. Go take a shower. You can use the blue toothbrush and white towel.” You slump down on your bed  and he leaves the room without another word.

Jungkook has been in many bathrooms in his life but yours can only be describe as microscopic.

He feels almost claustrophobic when he’s standing underneath your shower. The water is splashing on everything and he panicks for a moment if you will be angry at him for the mess but then he realises it’s practically impossible to keep everything around dry when he’s showering without any curtain or glass door around him.

He uses your shampoo and body wash, cleaning himself as fast as possible. They smell nice, flowery and exotic and somehow like you. Quick shower definitely has drained him from most alcohol he has in his system. He can now think through the situation he’s in with clear mind.  

After drying himself up and putting on his boxers, he stands in front your sink. He wipes off the moist on the small mirror, just to be met with his blank, tired eyes staring back at him. He really should use some good sleep. He uses the blue toothbrush just like you told him to and in the middle of the second round of brushing, he chuckles to himself at the surrealism of this whole situation.

He’s met you for the first time in three years after not speaking to you at all. You don’t own him anything and here he is, already having enormous, unpayable debt because you saved his life from the embarrassment and possible scandal.  

You were always like this, ready to put on your superhero cape and save him. Just like years ago when you stood up from your seat in math class and told the teacher you didn’t feel well right before she was about to check his homework, or rather the lack of it which was going to result in another low grade on his account. You, scaring off his fifth grade bullies. You, paring up with him for every school project and doing most of the work selflessly and without a word of complaint because you’ve always liked working alone.  

Jungkook spits the rest of the toothpaste and water mixed together to the sink and splashes his face. He really doesn’t know why he deserves you.  

The question is simple. He doesn’t. Not after being a total prick to you. But in some strange way, you took him back again, like nothing ever happened.  

When he exits the bathroom, he sees you kneeling on the floor and putting a bunch of pillows on the carpet that lies next to your bed.  

Jungkook frowns. “What are you doing?”  

You look up at him. Your eyes widen visibly when they land on his exposed chest but you quickly compose yourself. “What does it look like? I’m setting up a bed for you.” you reply, patting the pillows, still refusing to meet his stare.

“Am I not going to sleep with you on the bed? We slept together before and it wasn’t a problem then,” he says with furrowed brows.

“Are you kidding? My bed is for one person only! And you’re… you’re–“  

“I’m what?”  

“You’re big! Bigger than you used to be.” you breathe out, standing up from your kneeling position and sitting on the bed instead. There’s a tingle of barely noticeable rednees on the apples of your cheeks and he fights an urge to tickle your sides just to see you trying not to break into laughter so he could get away with your stubbornness.

“Okay, Miss Grumpy,” he grumbles, kneeling on his make-shift bed. Upon hearing that, you freeze on your spot and then he realises what he has just done.  

He called you the old nickname he’s made for you. He hasn’t done that in years.

You bite your lip, acting as if it hasn’t affected you even the slightest. Clearing your throat, you reach for the lamp on your bedside table and switch it off.  

Twenty minutes after that, Jungkook finds himself lying on his back in complete silence and staring at the ceiling. You have a few fluorescent stars attached to it, the ones that shine when it’s dark. You had probably ten dozens of them in your old room in Busan, too. A whole constellation.

Jungkook won’t lie, it is a little uncomfortable to sleep on the floor. He tells himself he’s fine with that, though. It’s what he deserves for being an absolute asshole to you. The sleep will come eventually.  

Another minutes pass and he’s still very much awake. Then, Jungkook thinks ‘fuck it’ and decides to shoot his shot.  

“___?”

You hum sleepily in response after a short while. “Yeah?”  

“I cannot sleep.”  

“Not my fault.”  

He bites his lip. “Can I sleep with you?”  

“Jungkook…”  

“Pretty please?”  

There’s a long pause before you say, “Fine.”  

He hears you shifting on the mattress, making a room for him. The bed creaks under his weight when he places himself right next you, back to your back. He wonders if he isn’t squishing you to the wall right now.  

“Are you okay?” he asks, just to be sure.

Your comforter ruffles when you try to move but there’s no use for it, not when he’s practically pressed flush to you. “Yeah. I’m good. You’re just really hot.”

“Thanks, love. No need to flutter me like that.” Jungkook murmurs, a hint of smug smile on his lips you cannot see.

“I was taking about four freaking body temperature!”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend you didn’t mean it.”  

“Go to sleep, Jungkook.”  

There’s mute between you for a while. Nothing but deep exhales and inhales and occasional sounds of cars or wind coming from outside of your window.  

It’s been really a long time since he’s slept in the same bed with other person. He's not the type to stay over after casual fuck, he’s never done that. But when he lies next to you, he can’t help but longe for someone to just hold him; nothing more, nothing less. He wonders what would you do if he turned around and snuggled into your backside. Would you yell at him? Kick him out?  

But you used to be so close together once. He won’t find out unless he tries.

Carefully, with limited space, he changes his position, mattress protesting under his weight but he rolls to his other side anyway, until he’s facing your back. He feels your body tensing a little when his breath fans over your neck but you don’t say anything, letting him cuddle up to you.  

It feels intimate this way, perhaps even too intimate for both yours and his liking but Jungkook can’t help but relish in your close proximity. When he senses you’ve relaxed a little, he shuts his eyes tightly.  

“___?” he murmurs. It's barely a whisper but you heard him loud and clear.

“Mhm?”  

“I’m sorry for ruining our friendship like that.”  

You’re silent for a moment and he thinks you might have fallen asleep but then, you let out a long sigh that sounds awfully audible in the small space of your bedroom. “You still have time to fix this, Jungkookie.”  

You haven’t called him that in three years. It’s good to hear that again.

He smiles to himself, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You don’t protest. If anything, he feels you breathe out with relief.  

Next morning you wake up feeling like the temperature in your room has risen to fifty degrees. You’re still wrapped tightly in your comforter and facing the wall, which means you haven’t moved even an inch in your sleep. The cause of it being a very much large, male body practically crushing you with its weight.  

You let out a shaky exhale. Jungkook’s front is not only pressed flush to your back but somehow, his muscular leg is thrown over yours, successfully trapping you in.

You wiggle, trying to free yourself from his hold but when you hear his quiet groan, you abruptly stop your movements. And then, you feel it. An apparent hardness poking your backside.  

You can’t help but blush, reminding yourself not to make this situation even more awkward than it already is. It happens sometimes, you tell yourself, it’s completely normal for men to pop a boner when they’re in such close, intimate position with another warm body.

But when you feel Jungkook unconsciously seeking friction and pressing himself even firmer against your bottom, you can’t help but yelp in response, throwing off the material covering your body and elbowing Jungkook's unsuspecting face in process.

“Fuck! What time is it?” he mumbles groggily, narrowing his eyes when they’re met for the first time with the sunlight gradually slipping through your unveiled curtains.  

“Quarter past your dick poking my ass!”  

Jungkook furrows his brows but when his eyes land on his crotch, he smiles sheepishly at you. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “It’s just been a really long time since I slept next to someone like that.” His cheeks are flushed in pink and he rubs the back of his head in a bashful manner.

“What about your one night stands then?” you can’t help but ask.

He shrugs in response. “I never stay over.”  

“Oh.” You don’t even know why you’re strangely surprised. Maybe it comes from the fact that you’ve always pegged Jungkook to be the rather romantic type. People change, they say. Or sometimes your assumptions about someone you thought you know like the back of your hand happen to be wrong.  

You clear your throat. “Anyway, get up. It’s time for breakfast.” you say and disappear from his sight but he still hears you fumbling in the kitchen, popping the kettle on.  

He raises from the bed with reluctance, bending to lift the puddle of his clothes he left on the floor last night.  

“Hey, what do you want to–“ you begin but your voice involuntarily trails off, seeing him in rather exposed state now in broad daylight. “–to drink?” you finish almost breathlessly.

You’ve been aware Jungkook's good looking. He’s started attending gym long before you stopped keeping in touch with each other. You just didn’t know he is that ripped. It’s not a surprise that his fans go nuts every time they see even a small glimpse of his muscles.  

You really shouldn’t be staring but it’s too late when you see a sly smirk on his face. “Like what you see, buttercup?” he asks like the cocky bastard you didn’t know he’s capable of being. “I would like a black coffee, please.” he adds.

There’s a roll of your eyes in response to his teasing tone. “Oh, stop with these nicknames.”  

Jungkook grins. “Why? Hyung used to call you that and you blushed every time.”  

“Because I had the biggest crush on your brother when I was eleven, dumbass.” you scoff, shaking your head. You leave him, heading back to the kitchen to finish preparing food.

“I know you had a crush on him,” Jungkook shouts after you, putting on his pants and t-shirt. “I’m just curious why him, not me.”  

“Seriously? You had emo fringe and pimples back then!”  

He laughs, making his way to the kitchen where you’re standing by the counter and mixing something on the frying pan.  

“Hope you don’t mind eating scrambled eggs,” you say, sparing him a quick glance. “It’s probably the only edible thing in my fridge right now beside instant ramen.”  

Jungkook settles himself on the stool by the small, wooden table situated right by the window. This time, the view is a greish wall of another building. He takes the coffe cup from you and adds a generous spoon of sugar. “I don’t mind. It smells really nice.” he answers, calming your concerns. “So, am I not crushable in your eyes?” He takes a sip of his drink, peeking at you curiously.  

You take out the plates from the cabinet and start putting the food you’ve prepared on them. “What kind of word ‘crushable’ even is? Beside, you have millions of fans gushing over you, I’m unnecessary in this equation.” you say, placing the plate in front of him.

“But you aren’t saying no,” he counters.  

“Jungkook.”  

“I know, I know,” he chuckles. “I’m just teasing you.”  

You look at him then, observing thoroughly for the first time since you saw him last night. He’s indeed handsome, there’s not a hint of doubt about that. His features are more mature, the baby fat on his cheeks gone and replaced with chiseled jawline. But if there’s one thing which stays the same, it’s his eyes. Still gleaming with misheviousness when he laughs and holding starry skies in them when he’s astounded by something.  

“Didn’t know you were such a great cook, ___,” Jungkook’s voice brings you back to the reality. He sends you thumbs up with his mouth full and you can’t help but crack a smile at his goofiness. Old habits die hard, they say. “Aren’t you eating?” he asks, staring at you with wide eyes.

You glance at your untouched eggs and opt for taking a sip of coffee instead. “I’m not that hungry.” you respond. He shrugs his shoulders at that, taking a bite of the toast.  

You nip the inside of your cheek, hesitating, before asking him a question that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue since last night. “What are you going to tell the rest of the guys when you come home?”  

Jungkook's expression immadietly shifts after registering your question. “The truth.” he says like it’s the simplest thing in the world.  

You don’t even try to hide your puzzlement, repeting after him, “The truth?” in bewildered tone.

“They aren’t going to buy that anyway. But believe me, it’s better if I came back in the middle of the night completely wasted.”  

Something’s telling you not to dread that conversation longer so you don’t press him about it any further, instead focusing on changing a topic. “Do you have anything planned for the rest of the day?”  

He nods, swallowing. “We have a dance practice later.”  

You raise your eyebrows. “New comeback?” you smile teasingly and he sends you a wink.

“That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”  

“Oh, come on. You know I can keep my mouth shut,” you pout.  

He rolls his eyes at first but then a small smile appears on his lips. “I know you can. You’ve been covering for me in school all the time.” he murmurs. At that, something warm spreads in your chest. “Come on, buttercup, I’m not spilling anything until you start eating.” he warns, pointing at your untouched food.

When you grin at him and he reciprocates the gesture, it feels like you’ve turned back the time.

“And... five, six, seven, eight!”  

Jungkook doesn’t know how many times he has repeated the same sequence of movements but he feels like passing out anytime soon. He asked Hoseok to help him practice but it looks like his older friend is in rather bad mood today and he seems to lose patience even quicker.  

“...and spin–no! Jungkook, you’re not supposed to do it like that.” Hoseok sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.  

Jungkook grimaces, collapsing on the floor. “Give me a few moments, hyung. I’ll do better, I promise.” he mutters.  

Hoseok crunches down next to him for a moment, patting him on the shoulder reassuringly. “You did good, Kook-ah. We can call it quits for today.” he says.  

Jungkook doesn’t even have strength to answer him verbally. Instead, he shuts his eyes tightly and nods. He hears Hoseok walking away and talking in the distance with Namjoon about something.  

“Are you okay?”  

Jungkook cracks an eye open. It’s Jimin this time. He kneels on the floor, observing him with worried look on his face.

“Yeah. Just need a minute to catch a breath.” Jungkook responds.

Jimin nods but Jungkook knows him well enough to sense that there’s another question at the tip of his friend's tongue. And he’s not wrong.

“Jungkook, you know you should stop doing that.”  

Jungkook sits up, turning his head in Jimin's direction, eyes narrowed into slits. “What, hyung?” he asks, not hiding is irritation. He’s heard it too many times not to feel it already blubbering inside his chest.  

“You know exactly what I mean. Partying, getting drunk, sleeping around like a–“ Jimin stops himself in time, seeing Jungkook's expression.

“Like who?” Jungkook scowls. “Come on, hyung, end the sentence.”  

Jimin shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just worried about you. We all are.” He puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder and squeezes.  

“No need to. Besides, you’re the last one to lecture me about smart life choices.” Jungkook spats harshly and gets up, leaving Jimin staring at his disappearing figure with defeated expression.

Back in the confines of his room, Jungkook finds himself lying on his bed again. At some point, his thoughts wander back to you. He had to leave your flat quicker than he wanted because of the scheduled practice (and the hint of guilt he felt for his hyungs).  

He wonders if you can still be friends together, just like the old times. He needs it. Needs you by his side. He didn’t even know he’s been craving it unconsciously. But then he realises he didn’t even ask for your phone number. Maybe you still have the same one?  

He reaches for his phone and unlocks it, searching through his contacts. He has you saved under ‘Miss Grumpy'. It makes him smile involuntarily. His thumbs hover over the screen before he starts typing.

[21:08pm] me:  

hi, it’s me Jungkook. I don’t know if that’s still your number but I decided to give it a try. I wanted to say thank you once again for yesterday. and today’s breakfast. 

Few minutes later, his phone buzzes.

[21:11pm] Miss Grumpy:  

you’re welcome, buttercup  

Seven days later, Jungkook is at Bongcheon Underground Station again. This time, it’s not his recklessness and cynicism that led him here. He climbs up the stairs and walk into the half-asleep streets with purpose in his mind.  

He remembers exactly the path to the club you’re working in. Now he can only hope you have a shift tonight as well. 

You haven’t talked a whole week. He felt too insecure and scared to call or text you. What if you don’t want him to keep in touch? What if your last meeting and sleepover at your flat was just a favor for old times’ sake?  

That’s why he needs to see you in person. He thought about visiting you in your flat but his intoxicated brain betrayed him and he couldn’t recall your address even if he tried and he did, sitting in front of his laptop and wandering through the streets on Google maps.  

When he enters the club he’s met with the familiar buzz of electronic music and the smell of sweat mixed with nicotine. It looks like it’s his lucky day though, because here you are, talking with a client behind the bar.  

Jungkook can’t help but smile to himself. He observes you for a while from afar, watching you listening to someone’s tipsy rambling with a polite, yet forced sympathy. He decides to save you from the uncomfortable situation, marching to the bar and sitting on one of the stools.  

He sighs to himself, remembering the pieces and bits from his memory of the last time he was there, making a total fool of himself. If it wasn’t for you, his foot would never step here ever again.

You excuse yourself and leave the drunk man, just to be met with Jungkook's smiling eyes. Somehow, his brain short circuits and he sends you a wink.

You roll your eyes, approaching him. “What can I get you?” you ask. “Although after last time I suggest a glass of water.”  

He chuckles, pulling his face mask down. “When do you finish?”  

Sparing a glance at the watch you have on your wrist, you answer, “In forty minutes.”  

“A beer it is, then.”  

You hesitate, reaching for the glass. “And you’re just going to sit here the whole time, waiting for me?” you ponder with a surprised expression, just like you’d never thought he could do something like that.  

Jungkook only grins in response.  

For the next half an hour he watches you work; serving drinks to clients, polishing glasses, occasionally giving a love advices to some teary-eyed girls in a short, black dresses. Just when he’s chugging the last sip of his beer, you come up to him.  

“I’m done for tonight. You can wait for me outside.” you say.

When his in front of the bar, he pulls out his cigarettes and lights up one to pass the time. He wouldn’t call himself addicted. He smokes rather sporadically, mostly when he’s out getting wasted or when he’s stressed about something. Or just like now, when circumstances are conducive.  

Few minutes later you appear by his side. He takes one last drag and whirls to face you. “So you really quit, huh?” he asks, making you nod curtly. “And you don’t smoke even when you’re on a party?” He's almost astonished.  

“Nope, even then.” you confirm, hearing him mutter a ‘Wow’ under his breath. “Well? What now?” You cross yours arms over chest, eyebrows lifted in question.

He tosses the cigarette to the ground and tramples it with his foot. “I thought we could go to your flat, eat late night ramen and just talk.”  

“So we're hanging out now?” There’s a slight sarcastic lilt to your voice and he worries for a moment you are going to tell him to fuck off but then, your features soften. “It sounds nice but I know a spot not far away from here when we can sit and talk. If that’s okay with you.” you say.

“Lead the way, then.”

You didn’t lie when you said the place you were taking him wasn’t far away. What you didn’t tell him though, was that getting there meant climbing up the fire escape all the way to the rooftop of a run-down tenement house.  

“Care to explain me how do you know about this place?” Jungkook asks once he’s seated comfortably on an old, emerald sofa next to you. It’s a mystery to him how this peace of furniture was brought here but nevertheless, it was someone's good idea.

You were right. It is nice here. You have a full view to the city from up there and he’s sure it would be easy to see the green hills in daylight or watch how the sky burns during sunsets.

“Minho took me there first,” you explain, answering his question. “His police department is few blocks from here. One day they got a call from some angry, old lady, saying that someone was playing music very loudly nearby. When they arrived, they found out a group of teenagers had organized a party on top of the rooftop.”

Jungkook hums. “He’s quite romantic,” Upon seeing your clueless expression he adds, ‘’Your boyfriend, I mean.”  

“Ah, yeah,” You crack a smile, although he thinks it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “He is. Sometimes.”  

He decides not to press you about it any further.  

He leans his head back, closing his eyes for a brief moment and inhaling the chilly, pre-spring air. Then, he feels you nudging his side. “So, what do you want to talk about?” you ask, staring at him in anticipation. Jungkook lets out a groan in response and runs his hand down his face. You chuckle, “Hey, we didn’t come here to sit in silence. Entertain me a little, would you.”  

He sighs your name. You aren’t prone to giving up easily, he knows it. You’re probably the most stubborn person he’s had a chance to encounter and that is also one of the main reasons he came up with the ‘Miss Grumpy’ nickname when you were in fifth grade.

“I’m pretty sure the golden maknae of BTS has more interesting life than me,” you snicker and he knows it was meant to sound playful coming from you, but he feels something heavy in his chest hearing your remark.  

He musters up a small smile. “You would actually be surprised if I told you that my life isn’t as exciting as it may look.”  

It hasn’t missed your eye how tired Jungkook seems. No matter how much he tries, he can’t possibly hide fully the bangs underneath his eyes or the greish complexion of his skin. It’s weird seeing him in person like this; without stage make-up and plastered smile reserved for the fans. Seeing him so humane.

For the last three years, you only watched him on your phone's screen. But it wasn’t really him. Your Jungkook is sitting right next to you and silently observing the city during the night. Your Jungkook smoked cigarettes with you by the beach in Busan and got you an autograph from one of your favourite artists he had met personally at the backstage after some award ceremony.

Your Jungkook would never got himself drunk to the point of unconsciousness, risking his reputation. But again, you might only think you know him.

“Let’s talk about you instead,” Jungkook says suddenly, pulling you out from your thoughts. “What do you do beside working in that club?”  

You sigh. “You know I don’t like talking about myself either,”  

“I know, but we haven’t seen each other for so long. I need to catch up with you.” 

You fight an urge to scoff, “And whose fault is that?” but you’re not in the mood to argue. Nor is Jungkook, as you suppose. “I’m studying journalism. Bartending is my part-time job. I had to start working because I couldn’t afford to pay for rent just from my poor scholarship. Prices have increased so if I wanted to stay in Seoul, I needed to work, whether I wanted or not.”  

Jungkook knows there’s no words that could somehow lessen your struggles. It’s been a long time since he worried about money. Now, he can have everything he’s ever wanted yet something’s always missing. And he still hasn’t discovered how to fill that void.  

“You’re still writing?” he asks instead, referring to your hobby you’ve picked up when you were kids.  

“Yes, I am. That’s actually what most journalists do, Jungkook. We write.”  

He laughs boyishly, high-pitched and you recall that pleasant sound from the back of your memory. He used to be embarrassed of it when he was younger and often hid his mouth behind his hand to muffle it. You’re glad he doesn’t do that anymore.  

“What’s so funny in that?” You sound slightly irritated, although you’re trying hard to stop yourself from smiling too. It just comes naturally when you’re around him.

He takes a deep breath and then says, “Nothing. I’m just thinking,”  

You raise your eyebrow. “Thinking? About what?”  

“Remember how you’ve always dreamt about becoming a writer when we were teenagers?”  

You nod. That’s still very much your goal. Albeit you’re aware it might as well not come true, sadly. “I do. And what about it?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he places his arms behind his head and leans back on the couch with a coy smile. “Maybe you will write my biography one day.” he says after a moment.  

“Only if you pay me shit tons of money for that.”

“Agreed.”  

You find yourself coping his position and slumping on the couch as well. His eyes are closed, and you watch him from the corner of your eye. Despite the dim lighting, he seems glowing in the darkness like a single, silver spot on the noir sky.

“I think I know how would it be called.” you say suddenly.

“Hmm?”  

“Your biography. I came up with the title.” you clarify.

“What is it then?” Jungkook hums with his eyes still closed.

You take a moment to answer, looking up at the blackboard night sky above you. Smiling to yourself, you reply. “I would call it ‘Lost star’.”  

His brows furrow slightly. “Why is that?”  

“That’s my secret for now.”  

“I don’t know. I think this song needs something more.”  

“It’s fine for me, Namjoon-ah. The bridge is great, stop worrying so much. We still have a lot of time before the deadline.”  

“Thanks, hyung. Jungkookie, have you spoke with Hyowon-hyung about your solo?”  

“Kook-ah? We’re talking to you.”  

“Jeon Jungkook!”  

Jungkook looks up from his phone at the sound of Seokjin's harsh voice. He sends his older friend a clueless look. “Hmm?”  

Namjoon sighs. “I asked you a question, Jungkook.”  

Jungkook puts away his phone. “I’m sorry, hyung. I wasn’t listening. Can you repeat it?”  

“Of course you weren’t, you’ve been staring at your phone for the past twenty minutes instead of paying attention to us.” Seokjin scoffs, digging his chopsticks in the kimchi he's eating.  

It’s a little past seven and they are having late dinner at their dorm after a whole day of schedule. Jungkook doesn’t even know what type of commercial they were recording. He just kept reading everything from the monitor behind the camera as he always does, trying to make it seem as unnoticeable as possible.

Truth to be told, Seokjin's right. He hasn’t been paying attention to their conversation, although he definitely should have. Telling them he was texting you this whole time is a pathetic and dumb excuse, he knows that. He doesn’t want them to ask him questions about you. Not yet.

“I asked if you talked to Hyowon-hyung.” Namjoon repeats after a moment.  

A hint of realization crosses Jungkook's face at that. “Yeah, I did. He played me the first draft and told me to work on the lyrics.” he says, reaching for his chopsticks.

Namjoon nods, humming. “Do you want me to help you with that?”  

Jungkook shrugs. “No, you don’t have to. I’m just waiting for the inspiration to kick in.”  

And he hopes it’s going to enlighten him soon. He has a few songs written on his own but creating music for an album it’s different. The standards are higher, expectations bigger. Restricted time always makes him jittery, too.

Taking a mouthful of his bibimpap, a smile flashes across his face. He glances if anyone is looking at him now but his friends are busy talking about something regarding the next release. He reaches for his phone and writes a message to you.  

[7:16pm] me:

do you remember the time when you cooked a bibimpap for my goodbye dinner at home?

Not even a minute later, he receives a response from you.  

[7:16pm] Miss Grumpy:  

yeah I do  

why are you asking me this tho

[7:17pm] me:  

I’m eating it know and it reminded me of that day

sorry but god, it was awful

[7:16pm] Miss Grumpy:  

excuse me????

He remembers probably every second of that day. His mother’s tears, your extremely undercooked meat and his father’s affectionate hug.  

Smiling to himself, he taps another sentences.

[7:18pm] me:  

I couldn’t tell you that. you looked so proud of yourself  

I just ate everything like it was the most delicious course on this planet

best acting of my life  

[7:19pm] Miss Grumpy:

you asshole

i poured my heart into this

you’re right, that was your best acting. definitely better than war of hormone playboy jungkook  

He rolls his eyes. The amount of times you joked about this particular moment of his career is neverending.

[7:19pm] me:  

can you please stop  

[7:20pm] Miss Grumpy:

fuck off. of course I won’t  

how was it?  

ah I know.

I’m a bad boy so I like bad girls

showstopping. truly

He tries to muffle his laughter but there’s no use for that. He snickers under his breath, hoping no one have noticed but he was oh, so wrong. Because as soon as he looks up from the phone screen, all eyes are on him.  

Namjoon clears his throat. “You’re not eight anymore, Jungkook, so I won’t lecture you like a father but please, don’t use your phone while we’re eating.”  

“Who are you texting this passionately anyway? You never put anything before food.” Hoseok adds, frowning.

“My hyung.” Jungkook answers casually.  

In the corner of his eye he sees Taehyung leaning to whisper something in Jimin's ear and they both giggle quietly. Jungkook sends them a glare.

They stop but few seconds later, Taehyung breaks into his signature boxy smile.

“What is this, Taehyung?” Namjoon asks, frowning.

“It looks like our Jungkookie is lying.”  

Jungkook grips the edge of the table tightly. He searches for Jimin's eyes but he looks away quickly, as though almost guilty.  

At the other end of the table, Yoongi puts away his chopsticks and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Care to elaborate on that, Taehyung-ah?”  

“He isn’t texting his brother. I think Jungkookie might be in love,” he sing-songs, giggling to himself.  

Jungkook’s first instinct is to smack his friend's in the head. And so does he. “What the fuck, Tae?” he snaps.

“Language, kid!” Seokjin says automatically.

“I'm twenty-two!”  

“And I’m twenty seven, so shut your mouth and listen to your elders. What is Taehyung speaking about?”  

Jungkook shakes his head. “I have no idea.”  

“Oh, stop bullshitting us. I looked at your phone screen when it was lying on the table. You don’t call your hyung ‘Miss Grumpy'.” Taehyung says, his fingers doing the quotation mark in the air.

“You’re not supposed to look at my phone! It’s called privacy!” Jungkook exclaims, however it’s pointless. Everyone now is focused on him and you.

“Can someone tell who the fuck is ‘Miss Grumpy’?” Seokjin asks, looking around the table.  

Jungkook runs his hand through his hair in a nervous manner. He screwed up, and now they won’t let him breathe for at least five more days. “Her name is actually ___. She’s my childhood friend from Busan.”  

He hears Taehyung chuckling next to him. “Oh, come on. You can tell us you’re sexting her. We won’t judge.”  

“I’m not!”

“Shut the fuck up, all of you!” Yoongi says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can’t we for once eat in peace? Jungkook, please, kindly explain us who this girl you’re texting with is.”  

Jungkook pursues his lips. “I told you. She’s just my old friend. Why would I lie to you?”  

Seeing their uneasy expressions, he realises he said the wrong thing. He has lied to them before about many things. It isn’t anything shocking that they doubt his words now. They have all rights to do it.

Namjoon is the first one to break the uncomfortable silence. “Jungkook, you know the rules. We can't freely date like we would like to. I suggest you should end things with this girl, whatever you're both doing, before it escalates into something more serious. Before you hurt her and yourself in the process.” he says.

Hoseok nods at his friend’s words. “Namjoon is right, Jungkookie. Serious relationships are just going to make everything more complicated.”  

Jungkook grits his teeth. “We aren’t dating.” he spats.

“Sleeping together also isn’t a good idea.”  

“We aren’t having sex,” Jungkook's eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you tell the same thing to Yoongi-hyung when he was seeing that blonde girl? He sneaked her into his room one day and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t just playing her his music.” he scowls, shaking his head.

“Hyung's older than you. Besides, he ended things with her some time ago.” Namjoon counters.

“It’s true, Jungkook-ah. Namjoon is right. No matter what you’re doing with her, you should always be careful.” Yoongi adds.  

Something breaks in Jungkook at that. All of the pent-up frustration seems to leave his body at once. “You know what? Fuck off, all of you. I’m not a kid anymore. I can make my own decisions and they are none of your fucking business.” He stands up from the table abruptly.  

“Jungkook, wait. Let’s talk without fighting now,” Namjoon pleads but he isn’t listening to him anymore.  

Jimin, who was silent this whole time, puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder. “Jungkookie–” he starts but his immadietly cut off by Jungkook's harsh tone.

“Stop calling me that!” Jungkook snaps and walks away, slamming the door to his room behind himself.

There’s a knock to his door an hour after.  

This pattern feels familiar. He messes something up, they give him some space to think and reflect about it on his own and then, it’s time to sit together and discuss it openly almost like a peace treaty. Jungkook says sorry, promises he will be a better person and everyone moves on.

He doesn’t bother getting up until he hears a voice behind the door speak up. “It's Yoongi-hyung. I’m not here to force you to apologize. I just want to talk.”  

Jungkook's brows furrow. He stares at the door, imagining Yoongi standing behind it with his hands in pockets and eyes glued to the ceiling. He debates whether he should open the door and let him in or keep sulking just a little more until the atmosphere will loosen up on its own.

Somehow, his thoughts wander to you. You would probably tell him that communication is the key to solving problems, or something along the lines. That he can’t shut himself from the world because he feels like no one really gets him. You would also call him childish but he doesn’t dwell on that more.

“Jungkook-ah? Please, open the door. I promise I won’t patronize you.”  

He exhales loudly and gets up from the bed. If there’s one person in this house whose words he can trust wholeheartedly, it’s Yoongi. He twists the handle and walks back to his bed.  

The door clicks shut a few moments later, mattress dipping where Yoongi makes a room for himself next to him, clearing his throat.  “Listen,” he begins but Jungkook cuts him off with a scoff.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t give me patronizing ted talks.”  

“Yeah, I did. But I won’t stare at the wall in silence either,” Yoongi says. Few deep breaths later, he continues. “Jihye was a nothing but a good friend to me with whom I had sex sometimes, no strings attached. Until one day I realised our relationship stopped being solemnly based only on physical attraction. That’s why I decided to end things with her.”  

“Did you fall in love with her?” Jungkook asks.  

Yoongi shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. But I could. And that’s what scared me the most.”  

“Why?”  

In the corner of his eye, Jungkook sees him smiling sadly. “It's simple. Because being together would only lead us to heartbreak. I cared about her too much to make her hurt like that due to my selfishness.” he says. “This is the same reason why Jimin didn’t continue his relationship with our make-up noona even after she left the company. And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t get any hard feelings involved with that friend of yours.”  

Jungkook pursues his lips. He understands Yoongi's concerns but his situation is different. Jimin was in love with that woman. He was ready to buy an apartment for them and move out from the dorm. If someone from the company hadn’t found out about their secret relationship, he would have still been sneaking around with her.

Jungkook though, doesn’t have any feelings for you. He’s gone past his silly crush when you were younger a long time ago. Besides, you have a boyfriend and he doesn’t chase after taken women. At least not intentionally.

“She’s just a friend, hyung.” he says finally but it sounds more like he tries to convince himself, not Yoongi.

Yoongi pats him on the shoulder. “I know. Just be careful, okay?” And with that, he leaves Jungkook's room.

Jungkook knew it was a bad idea as soon as he stepped into the club and loud, thumping music filled his ears.

He knew it when he ordered a round of shots and gulped them down one after another. When he found himself in the middle of the crowd of sweaty bodies, head buzzing and arms around a nameless brunette, his tongue between her lips.

And he knows it right now, when he’s sitting in a booth, her ass placed directly over his crotch where he’s already sporting a hard-on. The girl (Eunbi? Or maybe it’s Eunji? He hasn't registered when she shouted it to his ear because he was too busy staring down at her cleavage) grinds herself with eagerness against him and he lets out a groan, leaning to plant kisses on the side of her neck. And in that exact moment, when his chapped lips meet the porcelain skin of her throat, he locks eyes with you.  

(And he’s once again reminded how stupid it was to go to the club where you work.)

After his conversation with Yoongi he felt like he needed to prove something to himself. That he’s not the one to fall in love impulsively, that he can fuck and not get feelings involved. He could have gotten himself drunk in in any other place yet here he is, a random girl straddling him while he blinks his bloodshot eyes at you.

Your gaze trails down from his face to his palms splayed on brunette’s bottom and you scoff to yourself, averting your attention somewhere else. If he’s disappointed, he hides it pretty well, sucking yet another purplish mark on the girl's neck she accepts with another roll of her hips.

Whimpering into his ear, she moves herself faster against his hardness but he doesn’t pay mind to her anymore, not when he catches you looking at him again in the corner of his eye.  

The girl leans to kiss him and he obliges, tongue darting to lick into her mouth but his eyes remain trained on you the whole time. You see him slipping his fingers underneath her skirt and smirking when he feels the evidence of her lust between her thighs. He wants you to watch him making her come undone on his lap, he craves to relish in the sick thrill of having you witnessing what he’s capable of doing. But when he’s about to pull the girl's lingerie to the side, you’re turning away and disappearing from his sight.  

His fingers stay pressed to the flesh of brunette's thighs, unmoving, until she purrs into into his ear. “Oppa, please. Want you so bad.”

Jungkook tsks to himself, rolling his eyes at her saccharine sweet, high-pitched voice. “Not here.” he mutters.  

Minutes later he’s in the club's bathroom, his head thrown back and grunts escaping his lips. He looks down at the mop of her hair as she swallows around his cock, bringing him closer to the release. She peeks at him from between her eyelashes, teary-eyed and already fucked-out.  

He threads his fingers through her hair and pulls hard, until she moans around him. “That’s it, baby. Gonna fuck your mouth now.” He pushes himself deeper, feeling her choke. She welcomes the pain without complaint, tears flowing down her cheeks and palms pressed obediently on his thighs. Jungkook clenches his jaw, focusing on his pleasure until he groans lowly and comes down her throat.  

He pulls away from her mouth, tugging himself back into his pants. She stands up from her kneeling position on wobbly legs and wraps her arms around his neck. “What about me, oppa?” she giggles, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Won’t you fuck me now?”  

He sighs, staring down at her. There are smudges of mascara underneath her eyes, her cheeks are wet with tears and her lipstick is smeared. He reaches with his thumb to wipe it, and she leans into his touch.  

He feels guilty telling her to be quiet and hiking her skirt up. He feels it when she climaxes around his fingers with a cry of his name on her lips. He feels it too even stronger, cleaning her up and leaving to fix her make-up in front of the blurry mirror, but that’s all he can do. That’s everything he can provide.  

Later that night, when he's finally in his own bed, your face flashes behind his eyelids. He's sick of himself, of his actions, that he let his weaknesses got best of him again.  

Before he could even think of it, he types a message to you.  

[3:45am] me:  

I’m sorry. I was drunk and couldn’t think straight  

Few bits of silence later, his phone buzzes.  

[3:47am] Miss Grumpy:  

I know you were  

Did you at least thank her?  

He scoffs to himself, thinking about proper words to answer you but strangely, he recalls your wide eyes transfixed on him and the way you held his challenging gaze when his lips kissed another woman. He’s never seen you looking at him like that before. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t affect you even the slightest.

[3:48am] me:  

don’t worry. she had a good time  

[3:48am] Miss Grumpy:  

goodnight, jungkook  

[3:49am] me:  

sleep tight, ___.

There’s something apprehensive in the perpetual ticking of the clock when it's silent in the room. It almost feels like the sound keeps getting louder and louder as the time passes by, as if it’s expecting a storm to occur and shatter the calm.

“___?”  

You’re brought back to the reality from your thoughts by Minho's voice. He has a questioning look on his face, watching you with raised eyebrows.

“I’m sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I was lost in my thoughts for a moment.”  

“I could see that,” Minho reaches for his tea cup and takes a sip. “Is everything alright?” he asks, but you shake your head with a smile.

“Just university stuff.” you say vaguely and he doesn’t press you about it any further, nodding in understanding.  

Minho left his work earlier today, coming straight to your flat. It’s Wednesday and Wednesdays are dedicated to spending your time together on dates. Today, you’re going to the cinema and to your favourite sushi bar. For the second time this month.

“I’m going to use the bathroom now and then we can head out, okay?”  

You answer him with a nod. Standing up, you gather your cups and place them into the sink but right when you’re about to wash them, you hear Minho's phone buzz with single notification.  

You bite your lip. You know you shouldn’t look but you push it to the back of your head for now, sparing a quick glance at his lockscreen.

Sooyoung: when you will be free next time?  

You frown. You’ve never heard him taking about any woman from his work with a name like this. The message sounds ambiguous but it doesn’t have to mean anything to worry about at the same time. You just have to ask to be sure. That’s what couples do, right? They communicate.

Taking a deep breath, you wait for Minho until he comes back from the bathroom.  

“Are you ready to–”

“Who’s Sooyoung?” you cut him off before you’ll lose your courage and let the anxious thoughts consume you without asking him first.

He furrows his brows but then his eyes land on the phone lying on the table. He pursues his lips. “You’ve been snooping through my phone?”  

“I didn’t have to snoop. I just looked at the screen when you got a notification.” you say as calmly as possible, trying to hide your nerves. “I just thought it’s a little weird that some other woman is asking you when you will be free next time.”  

Minho's eyes narrow. “What are you insinuating?” he asks.  

“I’m not insinuating anything. Just tell me who she is, it’s simple.”  

He looks uneasy, tongueing the inside of his cheek but nevertheless, he’s still as composed as ever, gauging you with tentative expression. “Sooyoung is my friend from work. She’s a new recruit and we go to the shooting range to practice once a week,” he explains. “And before you will ask: we aren’t there all alone. Kihyun accompanies us. So you don’t have to worry about anything. Can we go now, honey?” 

You lower your eyes to the ground, nodding. When you try to move past him, Minho catches your wrist. “Do you have anything more to add?” His voice is stern and you gulp.  

“I'm sorry.” you almost whisper.  

“It’s okay. Just don’t jump into conclusions next time, okay?” he says, hand still wrapped tightly around your hand.  

“Okay.” you repeat and he releases you.  

A smile appears on his face after that, and he cocks his head at you. “Let's go.”  

You exhale a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding and follow him.

There are some things in our lives that we cannot predict.  

Like the heavy traffic on the way to work because of the car crash happening somewhere in the city or meeting your ex you’d rather forget about in a shopping mall months after break up.  And when they do happen, we can only confront what the faith has in store for us, no matter how much we resist.

You certainly couldn’t predict that after sending a ‘god I want to get drunk so bad’ message to Jungkook he would actually appear hours later on your doorstep with grocery bags in one hand and pizza box in another, grinning broadly when he saw your genuinely surprised expression.

That’s when the surrealism kicks in, when you’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, one empty bottle of suju on your account and the second almost drained to the half. When Jungkook is right by your side, tomato sauce on his chin you wipe out for him with a grimace, talking about some dumpling incident that caused a huge fight among his friends.

But no matter how much you try, how much alcohol you pour into your system, you’re unable to fully get rid of the anxious thoughts sitting at the back of your head.

It’s been a while since your argument with Minho and even though you want to believe him, the creeping feeling that something’s off won’t leave you. It’s easy to say to always trust your intuition, but what if it prompts you scenarios you wouldn’t like to become real?  

Jungkook must have sensed that something doesn’t feel right because he stops his rambling mid-sentence, clearing his throat. “Are you even listening to me now, buttercup?” he asks.  

You snap out of your thoughts at that, mustering an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I was but–”

“But you zoned out for a moment,” he finishes. “It’s okay. I know you since we were kids, I can tell when there's something bothering you. It’s all in your eyes.” he says, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

“What’s in my eyes?”  

“They look sad.”  

You shy away from his piercing stare, looking at your lap instead. You’ve always proud yourself that you can read people like an open book. That’s why you can so easily hide your true emotions at bay before the whole world. But if there’s only one person who is capable of seeing through you, it’s Jungkook.  

You can open up to him, you remind yourself. You’re safe, he’s been your friend for such a long time, he won’t hurt you.  

You take a deep breath and say, “Minho and I have some trouble. I mean, it’s nothing serious but he’s been acting weird lately and few days ago we got into a fight, so yeah. I’m just... a little stressed, that’s all.”  

“Should I kick his ass?” he suggests and knowing him, he might as well be serious so you brush it of with a chuckle.

“Maybe not yet.”  

You reach for the empty pizza box between you, putting it to the side. You debate taking another shot of soju but eventually you refuse, placing the bottle next to the carton. You’ve had enough alcohol for tonight anyway.  

“Are you happy with him, ___?” Jungkook asks suddenly, and you feel like all the air in the room has been sucked off.  

You turn to face him, heart rickocheting faster in your ribcage. If you’re truly shocked he’s had an audacity to ask this, you hide it pretty well. Something in your head is telling you that the best defence is attack, so you aim.  

“Are you happy?”  

Your question stirs something in him. You don’t know what you expected but you could never imagine him actually catching the bait and answering you with honesty. Yet he does.

“You know, I’ve been asking myself the same question a lot lately,” he says, smiling lopsidedly. “There are days when I’m the happiest person on this planet, when I feel like I can do everything. But sometimes, when I step down the stage and lights go out, it just gets harder.” There’s a slight crack to his voice at the end and when you look him in the eyes, they’re glassy. “If I knew it could be so lonely, I wouldn’t have signed up for this. Ever.”

Some things in life we are able to predict. We know the road leading to success and accomplishment might be bumpy, yet we cannot truly be prepared for the outcome of all the difficulties we come across along the way. Jungkook was aware of the consequences his popularity may cause in the future, but he simply didn’t think it could be so overwhelming.  

You scoot closer to him, your hand finding his amid your bodies. He looks down and intertwines his fingers with yours with a hint of smile in the corner of his lips. “You have all rights in the world to feel the way you do, Jungkook, remember that. But you’re not alone in this. I’m always here, okay? I’ve been for the past three years and I’m not going anywhere soon.” you say firmly, closing the distance between you.

He accepts your hug with eagerness, wrapping his arms around your frame with desperation, pulling you closer. It’s been so long since you’ve talked like this, since you’ve comforted each other and shared deepest fears.  

Jungkook buries his face in the crook of your neck, where you feel him breathing out shakily. He rests his palms on your back, tracing soothing patterns over the material of your hoodie and that’s when you realise he wasn’t the only one who needed to be held like this, even just for a moment. It’s exactly what you’ve been missing, the sheer intimacy of a simple hug.

“Sometimes I just wish it was different.” he whispers into your hair and you close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat.  

“Me too.”  

Somehow, it seems like the most honest thing you’ve said.

Even when you pull away, you’re still mere inches from him. You feel his breath on your skin, his hands travelling from your backside to your hips. Jungkook's eyes are focused on your face but there’s no sadness or melancholy in them now. In his deep brown orbs you recognize something akin to longing.  

And maybe the alcohol running in your veins is deceiving you, but when his gaze drops to your lips, you can’t do anything; you’re paralyzed, barely breathing. It’s electrifying, crawling in your skin. His right palm finds the apple of your cheek, thumb stroking your bottom lip until he releases it and tilts your chin. The moment your eyes meet his comes with realization that maybe you were right - you see the yearning in them. But it’s mixed with desire.

The first touch of his lips on yours feels almost exploratory. He kisses you so softly and carefully you might believe it’s his first kiss, but you know this is only a false inkling. Truth to be told, his experience in this area is incomparable to yours. With the shy press of his lips on yours he’s only testing the waters, sensing if you want to push him away. Yet you don’t.  

You succumb to the way his chapped lips move against yours, like they’ve always belonged there. You want to be as close to him as possible, feel the heat radiating of him on you. Nothing else matters beside you and him right now, the reality outside doesn’t exist as long as you’re in the confines of your small bedroom, lips colliding and rational thoughts gone.

When your fingers almost hesitantly thread into the locks at the back of his head, Jungkook deepens the kiss. Your body is moving on your own accord, knees sinking onto the floor on either sides of his thighs until you’re straddling his lap. You taste the desire on his tongue as he runs it through the seam of your lips, seeking entrance you provide.

His hands find purchase on your hips and when he nips on your bottom lip you let out a silent moan, leaning your forehead on his. “What are we doing?” you whisper, breathing heavily down his flushed cheeks and parted mouth. You’re trying to grasp the meaning behind all of this: of your quickened heartbeat, of the evidence of his desire where you groins meet.

“Something we are going to regret later.” It’s the answer Jungkook gives, connecting your mouths once again in a searing kiss.

Everything seems to crush around you. Erupting volcanoes, cascading waterfalls, tsunamis consuming the land. It’s dangerous, Jungkook thinks to himself, kissing you like that, nibbling on your bottom lip and eliciting a moan. But he can’t help but drown in it.

You’ve never felt quite like this; consumed by the flames of forbidden desire, ready to burn into ashes. Jungkook’s palms shift underneath your hoodie and you’re surprised how warm they feel against your skin, caressing your stomach and underside of your breasts. He’s touching you with ardour, like he doesn’t believe you’re in his arms, like you’re going to disappear the second he lets go of you.

You place sloppy kisses on his cheeks, jawline, down his neck, relishing in the way he seems to be affected by your caresses, tightening his grip on your waist with every press of your lips on his skin. He grasps the hem of your hoodie, looking for any sign of discomfort in your eyes but when you nod your head, he doesn’t hesitate to lift it off you, uncovering your bare cleavage.

Biting your lip, a sudden wave of insecurity washes over you but it quickly vanishes as soon as his palms engulf your breasts almost roughly, thumbs brushing your nipples until the peeks harden under his ministrations and you can’t help but gasp. He trails kisses down your throat, teeth grazing your skin almost feather-like and you know what’s that for. He doesn’t want to live a visible mark there.

In one, swift motion, Jungkook puts his hands underneath your thighs and stands up from the floor, lifting you up with ease and placing gently on your bed. He hovers over your half-naked figure, eyeing you with the carnal hunger that makes your chest raise and fall with heavy intakes of breath, core pulsing with want.  

He takes off his shirt and tosses it somewhere on the floor, and now you understand why all these girl are so drown to him. Jungkook's probably the most good looking man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Everything in him is crafted with perfection, from the prominent outline of his jaw, through the column of his throat and collarbones, to the sculpted expanses of his chest and abdomen.  

Your fingerstips are itching to map every ridge and deep of his body but you remain still, anticipating his next move with rapidly beating heart. Dominance and power radiating of him nearly make you squirm underneath his scrutinizing stare. His dark eyes are telling you to obey him, and you give yourself to him without resistance. You’ve never felt this way, not with anyone. Yet here you are, stripped from the innocence and bared to the pleasure.

Jungkook reaches to the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down and leaving you with nothing but your underwear on. He straddles your thighs, his palm pressed flat to your stomach until he slides it lower, to the dip of your body where you drip with the need of being fucked until you forget your own name.  

The first press of his fingers on your pussy makes your limbs jerk uncontrollably and he smirks at your reaction, seeing the material of your panties dampening with his small, teasing strokes. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly it wounds you up, blame it on your uncontrollable celibacy or maybe something else entirely.

“What do you want me to do, doll?” His question makes you whine, hips raising to feel more of his touch on you but he only chuckles at your apparent eagerness, patting your folds in reprimand.  

“Anything,” you breathe out in response, looking at him with frenzied eyes and hoping he will be merciful to you.

Jungkook tsks, his fingers leaving your cunt and grasping your jaw tightly. “Be a good girl and use your words.”  

You gulp, a humiliating blush reddening your cheeks. You’ve never really been a vocal person during sex, nor were people you had slept with but you can’t deny how much of a turn on is Jungkook's commanding voice.

“Please, Jungkook. Want you to touch me.”  

“Where?” His other hand wanders down your body until he cups your center. “Here?” he asks in a mocking tone, making you nod silently. “You want me to touch your pretty pussy with my fingers?”  

“Yes, please.”  

He grasps your underwear and shruggs it off your legs, smirking when he sees you so affected by his words. He then shoves his index and middle finger into your mouth and watches as you obediently lap your tongue around them, looking at him with hooded eyes.

“Fuck.” he curses, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.  

You look so pliant and submissive lying naked underneath him, so willing to let him do with you whatever he pleases. His cock throbs in his pants at the thought. He’s had girls at his beck and call before but it’s a different kind of lust with you. A strong yearning, consuming him from the inside, a desperation to be as close as two humans being submerged into carnality possibly can be.

Your back arches when his calloused fingers finally make contact with your bare pussy, slipping between your folds to gather the wetness dripping from your hole. You gasp at the feeling of his thumb circling your clit, biting your lip until you taste iron. He easily finds the right way to make you moan, to make your legs shake with want.  

You cry out his name when he pushes the first digit inside. He swears under his breath when he feels your warm walls flattering around him. “M-more,” you whimper, hips lifting of the mattress and seeking friction.

Jungkook smirks at that. “You’re so wet, baby. You like it, don’t you? Such a greedy slut.” You’re mewling at his words, grasping his wrist when he roughly plunges another finger into your cunt and starts shoving them in and out, not sparing even a second to let you adjust to the punishing pace he sets.

He leans his body closer over yours, eyes focused on the way your face writhes in pleasure while his fingers are abusing your pussy. You’re dripping, your arousal coating the his palm and the insides of your thighs. When he sees you reaching to squeeze your breasts, he swears he’s never seen anything sexier than this in his entire life.

“Jungkookie–nghh, please,” You’re a blubbering mess, moaning incoherent sentences. You could sense your orgasm approaching, you’re feeling it warming your body from the tip of your toes all the way to your core where you’re gushing around his long fingers.  

“Come on, doll. Be a good girl and cum for me.” Jungkook murmurs. With his words and his thumb flicking your bundle of nerves with practiced ease, you’re pushed over the edge, tears spilling from your eyes and coating your cheeks. He watches with parted mouth as you come with his name on your lips, your velvet walls deliciously tightening around his digits. He gives you a moment to ride out your high, stroking your side with his palm soothingly.  

Pulling out his fingers, he places them in his mouth, humming lowly at the taste of your arousal on his tongue. He wants nothing more than bury his face between your thighs and lick you clean but right now, he needs to fuck you.  

He stands up from the bed, taking off his pants and boxers along with socks and catches you peeking at him from the corner of your eye. Your chest is rising with laboured breaths, lips swollen from the way you’ve been biting them to stop yourself from letting out any loud noises that could potentially be heard through the thin walls of your apartment.  

He digs one knee on the mattress, his other hand wrapped around his thick cock. You lick your lips at the sight, nails digging crescent moons into your palms.

“On your fours, baby.” Jungkook commands and you oblige with flushed cheeks, maneuvering your body onto your hands and knees. You feel him behind you, his palms stroking the skin of your bare ass. A sick thrill runs through your body at the prospect of being taken in such a humiliating position.  

Groaning, Jungkook rubs the mushroom head of his cock through your folds, collecting the juices spilling out of you. That’s when you come back to your senses and your whole body stiffens. “Wait,” you call out, making him pause. “We need a condom.”  

“I’m clean. Besides, I never fuck anyone else without protection.”  

“Fine, just–” Closing your eyes, you release a shaky breath. “–you need to pull out, okay?”  

Jungkook leans over your body, placing a kiss on your shoulder blade. “Relax, ___. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” With one hand on your waist and the other on your hip, he positions the tip of his cock at your entrance and pushes agonizingly slow inside, making you moan at the stretch. You’re grasping the sheets underneath between your fingers, knees threatening to give away after another measured stroke that leaves your heat pulsating.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. When was the last time he fucked you?” he grunts, digging his fingers into your flesh. At the mention of Minho, your body tenses. You breath heavily, trying to push the unwelcomed thoughts aside.  

“A m-month ago?” you utter, recalling the last time you had sex. Or rather when you sucked him off and he didn’t bother reciprocating the favor.  

Jungkook shoves his cock deeper, scoffing to himself. “His stupid for not appreciating this enough.”  

You bite your lip, focusing on the feeling of him inside you. His words sound affectionate, too affectionate for your liking and you don’t want to think about this moment like it means more than what it is. Your hands tremble and lose balance when he fucks into you harder, until he’s filling you to the brim. You’ve never felt so deliciously full. A few bits of ragged breaths later, you mumble, ‘’You can move.”

He tightens his grip on you, bottoming out. He sets a steady pace, fucking you slowly but deeply, making you cry out into the pillow at the sensation of his cock dragging through your walls, making sure you feel every inch of him. “You feel so good, doll. So wet and tight. I’m gonna make a mess of your pretty pussy.” he says lowly.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo through the room with the promise of merciless fucking. Jungkook is relentless, pounding into you faster and faster, like he wants to ruin you, imprint himself on your body to make you remember how easily you can give into vulnerability. His hand slips underneath you and he lifts your upper body up, pressing your back into his chest. The new found angle causes him to hit the spot inside you that has you putty in his arms.

“Don’t–nghhh–stop, fuck!”  

He grunts into your ear in response, sweaty bangs ticking the side of your neck. He sneaks his other hand around your throat and you gulp. “Is this okay?” You hear him whispering and you’re nodding, tears gathering in your eyes from the immense pleasure he is bringing to you with every snap of his hips that threatens to make you lose it on his cock.

His fingers apply a slight pressure against your neck, enough to make you lightheaded with unfamiliar yet ecstatic feeling. He overwhelms you in every way possible and you’ve never felt like this; so powerless yet alive at the same time.  

Jungkook releases the grip on your throat but he’s hand still remains there as if in warning. “Look at you, taking my cock in your slutty cunt. You’re close, aren’t you? Gonna cum all over me?” he growls, fingers rubbing your clit in fast circles until tears are spilling down your cheeks and you’re keening.

“God–yes, fuck! Please, I want to cum so bad.” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. You’re on cloud nine, trembling in his arms. He tightens his hold on your throat again and with one last, final flick of his digits on your pussy you’re reaching your second orgasm this night.  

Jungkook releases his hold on you, helping you lay down on your back after riding out your high to the brick of oversensitivity. His palm caresses the length of your body soothingly, calming you down. You’re eyes are still closed when he bends and kisses you. Surprised by his sudden gentleness, your breath hitches in your throat. He coaxes a small moan out of you when you finally relax, wrapping your arms around his neck blindingly and pulling him close.  

You break away the kiss, feeling his stiff length pressing into your stomach. His cock is covered in your slick, thick and hard against his toned abdomen. Biting your lip, you sit up and enclose your fingers around his sex. Looking up, you're met with his dark orbs watching your movements. With his raven hair falling down on his face and sweaty chest, Jungkook looks painfully beautiful.

He lets out a hiss when you lean down and take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his velvet tip. “Fuck, just like that.” he murmurs. Gathering your hair in his hand, he makes a makeshift ponytail and stares down at you bringing him closer and closer to the edge with every drag of your pink muscle on his cock.  

Feeling him twitch in your mouth, you take him deeper, ignoring the ache in your jaw. “Gonna cum.” Jungkook grunts and moments later he releases his seed down your throat. You swallow the bitterness of his arousal, lapping your tongue around his tip until he pulls out of you, wincing with oversensitivity.

Silence takes over the room. You don't dare looking at him, staring at your naked lap instead, thoughts screaming in your head. You know you’re going to feel the aftermath of your rough fucking tomorrow, and it won’t be only physical pain. You sit up, ready to go to the bathroom but a hand on your wrist stops you.

“Wait, I’ll do it.” Jungkook murmurs and you nod absentmindedly.

He gets up from the bed and disappears in the bathroom. Unsure of what to do, you force your muscles to move, sitting at the edge of the bed. Jungkook comes back a minute later, carrying a dump towel.

Your head drops to the ground immadietly. He kneels before you and you desperately avoid his eyes. You notice he’s put on his boxers already and now he’s cleaning you gently off, removing evidences of your sins from your skin. You will take a shower later, the water will wash you off from each other’s scents and lingering touches. Love bites will soon disappear, bruises on your hips fade. Yet the scars you left on your hearts won’t heal that easily.

Jungkook puts his hand on your knee and you bite your bottom lip. He takes your hoodie lying on the floor and puts on your naked, marked body. Your heart clenches in your chest at the simple gesture.

“___,” he calls your name. At that, you finally look up at him. He seems worried, you must tell, millions of thoughts crossing his mind at the moment as well as yours. “Let’s go to sleep for now, okay? We will talk about this in the morning.”  

You don’t say anything, nodding at his words. You crawl onto the bed, trying to create as much distance as possible between your bodies but it’s pointless. You feel his breath on your neck and you're sure his itching to hold you, but he doesn’t know if he should, so he stays mere inches from you, until you both eventually fall asleep.

Jungkook wakes up hours later with a raging headache. He grunts to himself, rubbing his face with grimace and making another meaningless promise about drinking less alcohol. When he open his eyes, he realises he’s staring at the fluorescent stars attached to the ceiling. Your ceiling.

When he turns his head to the left, he finds the other side of the bed empty. It’s almost bright in the room, which means he’s stayed overnight again. And he didn’t do just that.  

Bits of memories flash behind his eyelids: him coming to your flat to hang out, your conversation, the kiss that led to naked bodies and breathy moans. He fucked up royally this time.  

Throwing the comforter off his body, he feels a sudden rush of coldness raising goosebumps on his skin. Frowning, he picks up his discarded clothes from the floor and starts putting them on. The door to your bedroom are cracked open, just like you haven’t closed them to not wake him up.  

Jungkook raises from the bed once he’s fully dressed, and pushes the door. He finds you standing by the fully opened window in your kitchen, staring outside.

He understands now why there was so cold before. The fluffy, blueish robe wrapped around your body is probably doing little job at providing warmth, but you don’t seem to mind it at all. You don’t see him yet, your back facing him until he takes another step and the floor creaks underneath his weight.  

He sees your shoulders raising and falling, as if you’ve just let out a sigh. Then, you turn around cautiously, a greish puffs of smoke swirling over your features. Jungkook raises a brow.

“I thought you said you had quit.” It’s the first thing he says, his voice still groggy from sleeping.

You shrug at that, averting your gaze to the view behind your opened window again. “I always smoke after making a bad decision.”  

It sounds bitter coming from you. A testament of your recklessness and weak hearts. He could read the regret straight from your face. It’s all in your posture: you look broken. And he is the reason why you’re hurting. The guilt is almost eating him up from the inside. He needs to try fixing this before you will push him away and he’ll lose you again.

“I think we should forget about that.” you speak after a moment of silence, still refusing to meet his eyes. Your voice trembles and he feels it stabbing him right in the middle of his chest, depriving him of hope to make things good between you. “It’ll be for the better for of us if we act like nothing ever happened. We got drunk, we let our emotions get the best of us. That’s all.”  

You and him both know it wasn’t just  alcohol which made you let him touch you like that, fuck your worries away for a few bits of pleasant oblivion. It meant so much more but you’re too afraid to confront this. You aren’t ready yet.

When you close the window and finally look at him, Jungkook's shoulders are slouched. Defeated. Something aches in your heart at that. “I’m sorry. For everything,” he tells you. He’s clenching his fists by his sides and you know he’s hurting too, more than he could ever let anybody realize. “I should get going then.”  

He exits the kitchen with one last, small smile reserved only for you. You didn't mean to handle the situation like that, like you’re quickly ripping off the band-aid, but you couldn’t think of a better way. Closing your eyes, you let your emotions decide once again. “Wait,” you call out after him, stepping into the hallway. “Maybe you will stay for breakfast.” you propose and Jungkook shakes his head.

“No. It’s okay. I don’t want to keep you busy.” he says, putting on his jacket. Reaching for the handle, he turns to you and smiles. “Take care, ___.” When the door close behind him, you let out a long exhale.  

What Jeon Jungkook couldn’t predict, is that he will be the one doing walk of shame out of your flat.

[beaubokuto]

━ i. what you broke

pairing: tobio kageyama x f!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, royal!au, angst

summary: prince tobio kageyama is cruel. he was known to be vindictive, revengeful, other synonyms for anger’s embodiment. you were not quite as interesting: a simple village girl with a knack for stealing things and will to kill the prince.

a/n: my first published fic on this account! i do hope you enjoy~~

tags: angst, royalty, swearing, medieval, fantasy, enemies to lovers, all characters are aged up, minor depictions of violence and death (no major character death)

glossary

next chapter

There was little to no effort as you weeded you way through the crowded streets. Though the sun shone brightly in the sky, you were nearly invisible. You needn’t a distraction as your hands skimmed the villager’s pockets and bags. You needn’t a disguise as you pocketed a fine gem from a shopping lady.

Not when you were in good relations with the general’s family.

You quickly swept through the streets and into a more quiet part of the town. The part you most disliked. There was not enough sound there, not enough places to run your hands through.

Still, it was home nonetheless.

You crouched to a stray cat and handed it a small cup of milk you had managed to obtain.

“I can’t stay long, kitty.” You whispered to it as if it could hear you. As if it understood.

The town square now behind you, you were walking towards the castle. You were not going to the actual castle, although the thought of stealing from them is incredibly tempting in a way only your mind could fathom. You were walking to a nice series of houses a little further down the hill from that.

The Castle of Kageyama sat perfectly structured on the top of a large hill. Nearly a mountain, but you were hesitant to call it as such. With towers of varying heights casted around it, the castle was almost as terrifyingly dark as the prince inside.

Below the castle were the High Order. The general and his family, knights and theirs. Cooks, messengers. Those in favor of the castle and those who work for them. 

And below that, the villages in which they rule. Dusted in browns and poverty, surrounded by lakes no one dares swim in lest they be drowned by sirens. Guarded by goblins and ogres and soldiers alike. 

They were kind if you were to them.

You were not fond of the prince. If you were being blatantly honest, you hated the man. He had no honor.

You watched as he clipped the ears of an elf who dared not bow to him. You watched as he called the city you lived in, the city he were soon to rule, filth. You watched from afar as he pointed his sword at your sister’s neck for your father’s disappearance.

And you watched as he killed her.

One day, it would be your blade at his neck.

The creaking of the door was the only sound that gave away your presence. The general peaked from the kitchen, bowl of something delicious in hand. 

“I imagine I do not wish to inquire what you have been doing?” The general asked you after you closed the door.

“You would only be delighted.” You joked. “And where is Kiyoko?”

“She’s in her room. She was at a ball this evening, so I believe she’s changing.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The general was a kind man. He welcomed you whenever you arrived, happy to allow you to eat with them in the Shimizu house. In the beginning, he was hesitant to let a foreign village girl into his home. But your friendship with his daughter quickly let him forget about that.

Kiyoko was beautiful. She was two years older than you, dark hair and bright eyes that shined beneath lenses. And one single mole under her lip. You could only imagine how many men danced with her at the ball. Women, too.

“What did you sneak this time?” She asked as soon as you entered her bedroom.

She was slipping out of a gorgeous blue dress. You paid that no mind, sitting on the edge of her bed in your (rather dirty) black cloak.

“Look!” You fanned out your items of the day.

An antique fan, a shoelace with a rubber nub at the end, varying food, a small bracelet made of braided rope, and the blue gem.

“All of this from walking from your house to mine?” She raised a brow. You nodded. 

Her eyes immediately lightened at the gemstone. “That’s a sapphire! You could sell this to Tanaka and Nishinoya for an incredible amount of money.”

“I figured it would be much, but how much?”

“At least... at least a moonful.”

“You’re lying.”

“I don’t lie. You know that.”

You were grinning ear to ear. One single gemstone may be cause of your fortune. You could apply to be a knight in the high order with a moonful.

“Put it away.” Kiyoko hushed, placing the gem into your palm. “I will phone the boys and see when they can meet. You’ll be a great knight.”

She pressed a kiss to your cheek and headed for the stairs. You followed suit, adjusting the sword that hung at your hip under the cloak.

The first time you had picked up a sword was when you were three years of age. You were a tiny thing, smaller than most and malnourished from your father’s lack of... well, everything.

You were running through the streets, playing with your older sister. Her long hair passed behind her, your three year old legs having trouble keeping up with her six year old ones.

But everything stopped when your eye caught on a sword on display at a shop.

The blade was made of pure silver, the handle carved into false blue vines that twisted into the actual blade itself. It was beautiful.

The vendor noticed your childlike wonder and smiled down at you. He came around the side of the table, picking up the blade. 

“Do you wish to hold it, little one?” He offered.

You nodded instantly. You hadn’t even noticed your sister’s return to your side, watching your infatuation with the object.

The second the sword touched your palms, you wanted to swing it. You wanted one your size. Your toddler arms could barely hold it up despite you holding it in both arms bridal style.

“I may have one your size.” He winked.

The man went behind the counter only to return with a small wooden one with a dull blade. It was not nearly as beautiful, but you could hold that one. 

“How much for it?” Your sister asked, looking through her pockets for any money she may carry.

“Worry not.” The vendor placed the blue and silver one back to his stand, and then proceeding to crouch in front of you. “You can leave with that one.”

Your sister thanked him, bowing and asking again if it were really all correct if you took it. But you were already swinging the thing around, the air around you feeling lighter and a smile on your three year old face.

“I don’t see why I must go wonder the village.” Tobio Kageyama argued. “Why must I go walk a place where I rule? This is why we have advisors.”

“You will be crowned in a month’s time, Tobio.” The king spoke. His voice was loud, booming. It commanded respect to any who hears. 

The king had the adoration of most of his kingdom. He was worried for his son, who already had a reputation of irritability and anger. He knew that he would be all correct, all kings had a different way of gaining respect.

“And tell me why we cannot crown Miwa instead?” 

“Because she is overseas. Because she is studying and to marry the sea king.” His father rubbed the space between his brow. “We have been over this many times, Tobio. No matter your rebellions, you will be crowned.”

“May I take a friend, then, if I must trudge through the grime?”

“Fine.” He huffed. “Watch your words. This grime will be your kingdom soon.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“You will be kind to be careful of your tongue if you wish to keep it.”

“Yes, father.” Kageyama corrected through bared teeth. He turned to the nearest servant. A human standing at the entrance to the hall. “Call for Shoyo Hinata. Tell him to make haste, we’re going on an adventure.”

The sun was setting against the horizon. Some days, you wished that you could see it; watch the sun set over a line of a horizon. But the sun always disappeared beneath the forest’s trees that circle the town.

You imagined that the castle had the perfect view.

Kiyoko and you had dueled for a while before you left. Being the daughter of the general, she was skilled with a sword. Though she was better with daggers, she still gave you quite a fight. 

Near the end, you both were sweating. You had almost managed to overtake her. 

“Good job. Soon you’ll be better than I.”

“That is incredibly doubtful, you’ve been doing this since you were born.”

She only smiled, saying, “There is a difference, though. I was born without talent and taught to battle, trained to be this way. You were born with talent and continue to train that talent. One day, you will best me. I can bet on it.”

You were still thinking of her words as you walked through the brown paths home. Most people were doing the last of their daily shopping, reading to head home before the ghosts come out.

Kiyoko had given you a little bit of money, telling you, “For on your way home. You won’t be suspicious if you buy things on occasion.”

She was correct, of course. 

You stopped to get cheese and bread. You had some fruit still in your pockets, but food was better warm.

You thanked the vendor. You plastered your best fake smile to them, bowing your head a little in respect. 

You hated common courtesies. 

You caught a glimpse of a bracelet on a woman who was looking at a basket shop a couple of yards from you. You could leave it, return to your mission home. 

Your hands tingled in anticipation. You could not help yourself.

Before anyone could see, before anyone had the chance to even acknowledge your position at the shop, you had the bracelet unclasped and in your palm.

You truly had to give yourself the credit for your talent. 

Perhaps it was the fear of never stealing again once you enter in the knight program. Perhaps it was the adrenaline you never fail to feel when you snatch something in plain sight. No matter; you could not help but smile to yourself.

That is why your heart seized in it’s chest when you found yourself face to face with the prince.

“I do not see why you are not enjoying yourself more, Tobio.” Hinata spoke. He rode his horse a little behind Kageyama. Kageyama figured it was out of respect, but Hinata just had a slower horse. 

Hinata’s orange hair was nearly glowing. It could be from his powers, but he was sure it was from the setting sun.

“I do not wish to prance through poverty.” Kageyama told him. “Why must I get my hands dirty when we are not supposed to leave the castle for prolonged periods?”

“You get to meet people.” Hinata smiled, looking ahead. They were close enough that he did not have to use formalities, honorifics. “Don’t you wish to see what the people are doing in the place you rule?”

Scoffing, Kageyama dismounted his horse. Hinata followed suit.

It was ridiculously symbolistic, their horses. Kageyama’s was a slick black, donned in dark metal armor and piercing eyes. Much like himself. Hinata’s horse was palomino, light with white hair and white saddle and an almost smile.

They walked beside their horses as they entered the town. Almost instantly, they could feel the atmosphere change. Whispers ignited through the people. As they walked by, each one bowed in honor.

Except you.

You were too busy looking at something in your hand, eyes agleam in something Kageyama could only claim as mischief. 

He had viewed the same look in his own mirror.

When you looked up, you caught his eye. You didn’t bow, you didn’t even mutter an apology.

No common person had ever looked him directly in the eye before.

“Where is your respect?” Tobio Kageyama asked you. His voice was deep, dark. A warning.

You had to hold back a roll of your eyes. “Not with you, my lord.”

masterlist

[thestraggletag]

Silver Tongue, a Rumbelle fic

Summary: Based on this prompt. Royce Gold is determined to confess his secret feelings towards the librarian. Unable to do it in person he sits down to write a letter but a combination of liquid courage and a determination to truly unburden himself made him perhaps a bit too ardently honest. And a bit careless.

This might have a sequel.

Rating: NC-17 

It had taken a long time to arrive at this point, but now that he’d made the decision Royce Gold was oddly calm, as if having made the decision had magically ended the slow-burning agony he’d been in since the library had opened three years ago. He hadn’t much thought he would be affected by the event, and had privately thought it wouldn’t last. He could not see there being any need for a library in Storybrooke, a town where most people had last held a book in high school, if even then. He had thought it would not last long, one of Regina’s many pet projects that was abandoned when it did not justify its constant spending of town funds.

He had been wrong, in the end, because he hadn’t factored in the librarian. Belle French swept into town with her high-end, short-skirted fashion and noticeable Australian accent and he thought the moment he saw her that she wouldn’t last. Too foreign for a small town like Storybrooke. He had been wrong, though. She had soon made friends with the miners, and Granny and Ruby, and even a few of the teachers from the local school. She also made sure to make the library indispensable, organising book clubs and other after-school activities for the children, offering computer literacy courses for adults and a place for the knitting club to meet, as well as regular table-game nights that surprisingly became wildly popular with certain crowds. And had made Granny an unbearably-cocky backgammon champion, two years running.

So she had stayed, and soon he had begun to notice the danger in it. The way he could not stop staring at her in the diner, or as she walked down the street. They way he got tongue-tied when in her presence, and turned softer, kinder. The way his smirks turned to smiles around her, and he laughed easier. She was smart, and learned, and had a delightful sense of humor. Dark, like his. And yet she was a being of light. Kind, always ready to help, and willing to see beyond the surface. Beyond the drunken escapades of Leroy, or the scandal surrounding Miss Blanchard and Mr Nolan, or his own sordid reputation. And it was that thing that made her so dangerous, how unafraid she was of him, and how determined she seemed to be in getting to know him.

He had been half in love with her before he realised it. The attraction he could deal with- after all, she was a gorgeous woman, and he a man with eyes- but the feelings scared the fuck out of him. It was too late to stop himself, however, so he resigned himself to being a besotted fool… from a safe distance. Only the more they interacted the less he seemed reconciled with the idea until it felt like he was choking on his unexpressed feelings. 

That’s why he had decided, in a fit of uncharacteristic emotional bravery, to unburden himself. Confess his feelings, likely be politely refused, and put an end to the madness. Or perhaps, if fate smiled upon him, be rewarded with a tentative acceptance to a dinner date, and perhaps more. It was always a possibility, albeit a small one, but enough to give him the push he needed.

He had decided it would be best to write her a letter. He got stupidly tongue-tied in her presence, after all, and there was something whimsically old-fashioned about a written letter, which he was sure she would appreciate. So on Friday night, after dinner, he locked himself in his study, fished out his Waldmann Tango and his best stationary, and…

Drew a resounding blank.

It was difficult to start writing with a blank page, he reasoned, so he tried at first simply to write the opening line, immediately falling into a ten-minute debate on whether to address the letter to “Miss French” or “Belle” and what to put in front of it “Dear Miss French”, on one end of the spectrum, seemed too dry and cold, and “Dearest Belle” on the other, too forward and presumptuous.

In the end he decided on “My dear Belle”. There was no point in writing a letter declaring his feelings if he could not even bring himself to call her by her given name and the slightly possessive edge to his greeting might come off as ardent rather than off-putting.

The opening paragraph seemed easy at first: “I am writing to you in order to express certain feelings I am sure have gone unnoticed so far, given the pains I’ve taken to ensure they remained hidden, in part due to our mutual circumstances and standing in town…” yet after a few times reading and re-reading it he had the odd, sinking feeling he might be writing the slightly-more-modern version of Mr Darcy’s ‘In vain I have struggled’ speech and that hadn’t gone over well the first time around. Luckily for him, at least, Belle had no sister he could insult while he was at it. So he scraped it and tried again, but soon felt everything he wrote sounded too formal, stilted and lacking in emotion. He was laying it all down like it was a contract to seal one of his deals, and it was hardly conducive to romance, or reflective of his true feelings.

He stood up, going for the wet bar he kept in the corner of the office. He selected a half-full bottle of Lagavulin and poured himself a generous three fingers into his favourite tumbler, deciding to forgo ice altogether. He needed to loosen up and good Scotch always helped in that. He sat down again, downed the drink in one go, and took another shot at it. He wanted to sound… Passionate, he supposed. It was the whole point of the letter, after all, to confess his true feelings. And his feelings were… ardent. Powerful. All-consuming, at times. Like a small, flickering flame that had slowly built into a veritable inferno. Though he did not wish to frighten her, he did wish to unburden himself and leave her with no doubt regarding his feelings.

“There hasn’t been a day since you arrived in Storybrooke that I haven’t felt your presence in some small way. You’ve taken a permanent residence in my mind and my heart, and there are days when I can scarcely think of anything else. All it takes is a small conversation or even a passing smile and I’m rendered useless.”

He fetched the Scotch from the bar and poured himself another drink, deciding it would be best to leave the bottle nearby. He felt he was finally getting into the groove of things, building up to something that sounded less like a legal clause. He downed his second Scotch, feeling the pleasant burn as it travelled down his throat, and took his pen again.

“You need not be concerned if you do not share my feelings. I will respect whatever decision you make. I simply wanted to tell you of the warmth you inspire in me, the way you’ve torn through all the walls I’ve built between myself and the rest of the world. And yet I know you to be, above all things, kind. More beautiful on the inside that you are on the outside, if that’s at all possible. I know that I am safe in your hands, whether you choose to give me a chance or not. Thank you for treating an old beast with kindness and humanity and know that, no matter what the outcome is, you have a friend and an ally across the street from the library, if there is ever anything you need.”

He signed it simply “Yours” because it felt apt. He certainly felt hers, in any case. Below he signed his name, trying to make his signature a bit more whimsical, give it a tad more flourish. Afterwards he stretched, poured himself another drink, and read it. It was… Good. Not too dry, not too passionate. Solid. Respectful but a good representation of his feelings at the same time.

Well… to an extent. He gulped down his third glass of Scotch and poured himself another, ruefully acknowledging that the letter was not quite honest. It was a bit restrained. Or a lot restrained. It felt like the gentlemanly thing to do, to tone down some of the more unbecoming feelings, keep those more intimate urges locked up for the time being. But perhaps, he mused, he could let loose a bit, to try and see if a more emotionally-honest letter would actually be preferable.

He could tell her, perhaps, a bit more about how it was hard for him to keep his eyes off her when they were in the same room. How utterly beautiful she was, small enough to make him wanna crowd her in, whisk her away somewhere and lean over her, feeling her breath on his neck. How he adored her high heels and flirty skirts and wished nothing more than to-

He removed his tie, and scratched out that last sentence, automatically fishing for his drink to try and cool himself down. He was beginning to get inappropriate and, anyway, he did not wish to come across as if he was solely enamoured with her physical appearance. Though he very much was enraptured by it, it was her personality that had made him fall for her. Things like her kindness, her understanding, her insatiable curiosity. He wished to share everything with her. Wanted to teach her all the secrets of his trade, have deep discussions on books they mutually liked, bare his soul to her inquisitive eyes.

“In my dreams, over and over, I am a willing slave to your curiosity, your insatiable need to explore and experience. When I close my eyes I see us in every way two people can be together, entwined till it’s impossible to decipher where I end and you begin. You let me press my mouth against every inch of you, drink from your cunt till I’m satiated, but it’s never enough. I wish to vainly attempt to quench your curiosity anywhere and everywhere you’ll let me, at any time of day. Over and over till neither of us can walk and I cannot remove your scent from my fingers, my mouth, my cock.”

He stared at the paragraph, head tilted to the side. The paper looked a bit blurry, so he checked to make sure he was wearing his glasses. He was. Odd. He reached out for his glass of Scotch, surprised that it was empty. He refilled it, noticing the bottle felt surprisingly light. He re-read the paragraph, trying to figure out if it was a bit too risqué. But, he reasoned, Belle was risqué, in her attire, in her reading choices. Sure she would appreciate him being the same, going out of his comfort sort in order to convey the depth of his affection.

“I dream of fucking you for hours on end. Slowly, with the care and thoroughness you deserve, till we’re both numb and spent. I want to make you ache in places where the pain bleeds into pleasure, and convince you that only I am worthy of making you come. That none of the boys you might have had between your lovely legs were worth a second look. I want to become your favourite toy, there for whenever you might need me, eager to please, to make you sigh and moan and keen till you are hoarse.”

He was hard, he noticed, but it was hardly a surprise, though he thought he might have drunk a bit too much for his body to rise to the occasion. He thought about touching himself for the briefest second, but quickly dismissed the idea. He was on a writing roll, it wouldn’t do to jeopardise that. Instead he poured himself another glass of Scotch, surprised when he had to tip the bottle all the way. He didn’t remember drinking enough to empty it, but he must have. Shrugging, he turned his attention back to the letter.

“I want to take you against the stacks of the library, amidst the books you love so much. I want to fuck you in the backroom of my shop so your smell lingers there. I want to go down on you in my bed for ours, till the silk sheets are ruined beyond repair. I want to consume you anywhere, everywhere, knowing that I will never be truly satiated, that it will never be enough. Have you splayed across my dining room table so I could eat you out as many times as I wanted, as much as you needed. I want to do everything to you, and have you do everything to me, till I can’t scrub you from my skin, the same way I cannot seem to be able to erase you from my heart and my mind.”

It was a bit of a sappy ending, but he supposed it balanced the more physical emotions out. He signed his name at the bottom with a flourish, smiled in satisfaction and staggered to his feet, determined to make it to his bedroom. He would get a good night’s sleep, wake up refreshed, and deliver the letter personally first thing in the morning.

In the morning, once he was done throwing up and had managed to shower, he shook his head at the idea he could’ve ever thought he would wake up anything other than terribly hungover. He popped a couple of aspirin, forced himself to swallow a few bites of dry toast, and dressed himself for the day. Before going out the door he remembered the letter, wincing when he recalled specifically the second draft he had made, clearly in a state of drunken foolishness. He picked up the sheets of paper, thinking for a second about ripping them up. He stopped himself at the last minute, though. The letter might not be fit to ever be seen by Belle, but he fancied the idea of rereading it later. He folded it neatly into an envelope and fetched a second one for the original, much more suitable letter. He would slip that one underneath the library’s door on his way to the shop. 

He was startled by his home phone ringing, picking up to see it was the tip on the estate sale he had been waiting for. He jotted down the necessary information, went back to his desk to retrieve the letter and was out the door a few seconds later. He hurried to the library and, before he could convince himself otherwise, slipped the envelope with the letter underneath the doors, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety afterwards. He had done it, and though he felt unbearably nervous about the whole thing, he was proud of himself for following through.

Or he was, until he opened what he thought was the unsuitable letter and realised it was the original first draft. He had switched them up by mistake. Ice flooded his veins, and he felt like someone had punched him in the gut, leaving him gasping for breath. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him, not with Belle. The more he thought about it the more his mind recalled fragments of the letter, lingering in its uncouth language and vivid imagery. He was fucked, totally and completely.

Unless…

Maybe she hadn’t opened the letter yet. Or she had, but hadn’t gotten around to read it all. The first page or so was quite reserved. Perhaps he could sneak into the library and retrieve the rest, or swap it for the correct letter. He had the keys to the library, as it was his property, rented by the town. It would feel and likely be a terrible violation of the librarian’s private space, even though he did not intend to go beyond the library, but it would be worse to allow her to be submitted to such basic thoughts as the ones he had written down the other night. 

With that in mind he took the library keys from his safe and went out into the night. Storybrooke, being a small town, was deserted at that time, which was a blessing. Less people to see him slip inside the library using the back door, or hear him as he rummaged around inside, trying to be quiet and not use his phone flashlight, lest that alert Belle upstairs in her apartment somehow. Tentatively he made his way to her office, sure she would have surely put the letter, hopefully unsealed. But when he got close he noticed light coming through the windows of the office, where the blinds were partially-lowered. It seemed that, given his fucking luck, Miss French was still diligently toiling away doing something or the other for the library. Nevermind. He would take a discrete peek, to see if he at least spotted his letter atop her desk, and if he did he would hide in some shadowy corner of the library and wait her out. If he didn’t he would cut his losses and go back home, to try and figure out how he was ever going to face Belle again. 

He approached silently, drawing one of the slats down to peer inside. He spotted Belle right away, leaning back on her office chair with an ottoman propping her feet up. She was reading something and for a moment he appreciated her face, eyes focused on the page, cheeks slightly flushed and lips parted. Then he registered the rest, the shirt tossed above the desk along with her bra, the black silk camisole making her hardened nipples visible and her left hand, which disappeared somewhere beneath her rucked-up skirt. She sighed, head rolling back as she whispered something.

He didn’t know what registered first, whether it was the fact that she was saying his name or that it was his letter she was reading, clutched tightly to her right hand. There was no doubt as to what she was doing, and yet he could hardly believe that Belle fucking French was bringing herself to orgasm in her office while reading his letter. He pinched himself, unwilling to believe he was seeing what he was seeing, but the sting felt all too real. It wasn’t a dream, it was, somehow, reality. Sweet, sweet reality.

He needed to get out. As much as he burned to just burst into the office and let his mouth do what Belle’s fingers were attempting, it wouldn’t do. By some miracle she was not offended or otherwise put off by his risqué letter, but she sure would be by him breaking into the library. Offended and perhaps scared, unsafe, which was the last thing he wanted her to feel, especially in his presence. He would sneak out, quietly, and swing by the library tomorrow afternoon, right after closing time. As much as it would embarrass him to bring up his letter he would know she reciprocated his feelings, or that at least she was open to them, and that would give him the courage needed to ask her out. 

It was a solid plan, a great plan. And it would’ve worked, he was sure, if he hadn’t knocked over a banker lamp as he backed away from her office. The  antique bronze made a horrible noise as it collided with the floor, and the green shade shattered upon impact, making a mess.

“Who’s there?”

Fuck.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Eye of the Storm 9

Warnings: nonconsensual sex (series), teasing, some fingering

This is dark!Thor and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a new servant at the palace of Asgard but the job isn’t so easy as you thought.

Note: Um, some stuff happens. 

(I can’t blame @lokislastlove​ but I will anyway)

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

That night was as sleepless as many since your arrival at the palace. You mourned your old life not just for its simplicity but for the restful nights, even if they hadn’t been very long then either. 

In the morning, the routine you’d formed was the only thing that kept you from stewing in anxiety and self-pity. You just couldn’t help but sink yourself further into the mud.

You took the tray from the kitchen and crept your way up the winding staircases to the upper floors. A sense of dread filled you, a cursed sense of deja vu pervaded your mind. 

You had to stop to gather yourself outside the solarium, having unintentionally taken a turn that would see you past the king’s chambers. Loki’s were just a single corridor away. Before, they’d felt like a haven but now it was like entering another snare. The snake’s tooth was just as sharp as the lion’s fang. 

You took a breath and knocked with your elbow. No answer came and you kicked instead. Still, the silence remained. 

Surely you weren’t to carry the tray all the way back to the kitchen, you knew Loki was within. So you balanced the tray against your hip and opened the door as it teetered precariously. You entered and closed the door with your bottom, jostling the lid just a little. The prince, presumably, was still abed.

You went to the balcony and set the tray in its usual place on the round table. You turned back and swept through to the receiving chamber. You listened for any stirs from the bedroom. It would be better to wait. 

The prince no doubt recalled the previous night as well as you, though he’d not have an ounce of guilt for it. In fact, you suspected he would be quite indignant on your errant tongue. His curt dismissal, still crisp in your head, assured you of that.

You didn’t wait long as you were called to attendance. Loki’s voice carried through the open door and you froze in place, only then realising how you’d been pacing around the chaise. You went to the doorway and hovered just upon the threshold of the bedchamber. 

Loki sat up as you did, his chest bare and pale as the sunlight peered in through the tall windows. His black hair was askew, unlike its usual sleek perfection, and his green eyes were slitted with the remnants of his slumber.

“Ah, timely as always,” He commented as he turned his legs over the side of the bed, the blankets pulling away from him as he did. He was naked and either unaware of it or unaffected by it. “Come here.”

He stretched his arms above him and you reluctantly obeyed. You approached nervously, your eyes on his profile as you prayed they didn’t slip lower. He reached to you as you neared and grabbed your wrist. You let out a yelp as he pulled you close and fell back on the bed with you atop him. Your eyes were wide and fearful as you stared down at him.

He smiled and chuckled, his gazed flicked down and back to your face.

“Forgive me, I did not realise--” He said. “I do forget myself.” He purred, your lips only an inch from his. “Would you be so kind as to fetch me some water?” He sat up and shoved you off of him. “I am terribly thirsty.”

You blinked and bit down on your cheek as you turned to grab the ewer of water on the side table against the far wall. You poured a cup and returned to him. He took it and drained it easily before he stood, handing it back as he sidled past you.

"If you would draw me a bath," He said as he rounded the bed and went to the window.

"Your highness," You uttered stiffly.

You left him, thankful to be away from him, and neared the pump at the head of the ebony tub. You cranked it and watched the water splash down.

You were more angry at yourself than Loki. You knew not to trust him and perhaps you hadn't but you had thought him different than Thor. Sure, he was deceptive, arrogant, and entirely self-serving, but you hadn't thought him to be... like that.

He entered and you stopped the faucet. The water had risen rather high. You stepped out from behind the tub and stared at the marble floor as you walked along the wall to the other side. Loki went to the tub and paused at its edge.

"You might set out my attire for the day. I've a council meeting shortly." He said. "If only I were king and could hold my own pleasure above the needs of the realm."

"Yes, your highness," You were quick in your flight, taking his dismissal before he could rescind. 

Even so, you were unnerved that he let you go so easily. As you were learning, Loki was patient and with time, his plots grew ever more sinister. 

You went to his wardrobe and chose one of his many green tunics, this one trimmed in silver, and a pair of matching trousers. His heavy emerald jacket was hung at the read from a hook on the wall and you laid it out next to the rest of his outfit. You rubbed your hands together as you listened to the gentle ripples of water and his movement from the next room. No doubt leaving would only make whatever torment he had planned worse. Oh how much like his brother he truly was.

When he emerged, covered from the waist down with a towel, you stood by the door. He approached the bed and looked over your selection with a haughty grin. He let the towel fall slack and bent to dry himself. You looked away and focused on the engraving of a snake hung over the desk.

“Tell me,” He said and you kept your eyes above his shoulders as you glanced at him. “Did my brother have you dress him? Well, of course that’s rhetorical. He must have.”

You pursed your lips and said nothing. The silence was your begrudging answer.

“Don’t worry, dear, I can dress myself,” He took his undershorts and stepped into them. “I will however have you accompany me to the day’s council. The king has insisted upon it though I’d rather he put more effort into his marriage. Figures he would heed his duty when another lays upon his shoulders.”

You found it hard to do more than taste the bile of anger rising on your tongue. You cleared your throat and recited a tame “your highness.”

He smiled to himself and continued to dress. Deliberate and slow, it felt like an eternity before he was clothed. He brushed his hair and glanced in his mirror. He turned his head to admire his sharp features and stood straight. He went to his desk and seized the heavy ledger and a bundle of papers. He approached and thrust them into your arms.

“Very well, let us be off,” He declared. “But I do expect you to wipe that trite look off your face in the presence of the council. I will not shy away from doing it for you should you continue to wear it.”

You inhaled and eased the tension from your jaw as you bowed your head. He stepped past you and strutted into the receiving room.

“Do not tarry,” He called to you. “Unless you do long for my remonstrance.”

🌩️

You did not miss the surprise that raised Loki’s brow as you arrived at the council chamber. Thor was the first there and sat at the head of the long table. Before him, he had his own stack of papers and barely even acknowledged his brother’s presence as he perused them.

The other lords came one at a time. You’d only attended one other session and yet something felt amiss. The way the men and single lady sat wordlessly and eyes flitted here and there, never quite meeting as something remained unsaid. You glanced at Loki for any hint of what it might be and to your surprise he seemed just as perplexed.

Thor brought the meeting to order as he sat up and slapped the table. He took a breath and could barely withhold his questionable pleasure. You peeked at Loki again and then back at the king. He had effectively ignored your presence and you felt as if you should be thankful and yet it only injected you with a sense of foreboding.

“As some of you are already aware, today is more of a formality than anything. I do have a new wife awaiting my attentions and I do hate to disappoint her so early in our union.” Thor announced. “So let us get to the matter at hand.” He paused and raised a hand to Loki who shuffled a paper before him. “Brother, your paltry little gripes can wait until our next. I do not care for the tax on grains.”

Loki’s lip twitched and he merely swallowed his protest. He looked to Sif and then Hogun. They both avoided his gaze and he poked his tongue against his top lip as he thought. Something was indeed going on.

“We will be holding a vote today on the matter of at last reinstating the legacy act.” Thor explained. “Brother, I have always admired your knowledge of our legislation. Surely you are familiar with the act.”

Lines formed around Loki’s lips and across his forehead. His green eyes burned fiercely as he glared at his brother.

“I am aware of it. I am more than. I recall our father disbanded it upon our mother’s insistence and it was upon good reason that he did.” Loki replied. “The kingdom does not need a civil war.”

“Nor does it need an empty throne,” Thor countered smoothly. “My wife, should the fates bless us, is expected to provide me the heirs necessary to continue our lineage but we both know how fickle fate can prove. I should hate to leave my kingdom without a prince, or should we have one, a princess.”

“Calla is young, she has many siblings as did her mother and father,” Loki insisted. “You hardly need insurance upon our bloodline.”

“Ah, but we cannot rely on assumptions or hopes. Didn’t you always warn me of such optimism? Ever the cynic, you are, brother,” Thor chided, “I finally take your advice and you look as if you’ve swallowed your own tongue.”

Loki’s fingers tapped on the stone table and he shrugged. “Very well, put it to a vote then brother. Certainly I am not the only who sees through your foolishness.”

“Before we go forward, are all parties familiar with the contents of the legacy act?” Thor asked. All nodded, Loki with some reluctance as he looked around. “Very well, let us vote. All those in favour,” All but the prince said aye, “And against, “Nay.” Loki shook his head, his defeat already obvious.

Thor nodded and sat back in victory. Swift, neat, easy. You knew as Loki did, as he stared down each member of the council, that they had conspired without him. The prince realised all too late that his brother was just as tricky as he was. You hadn’t any idea what had been done but as the king’s eyes settled on you and he winked, you knew it could not be good.

“Maid,” Loki beckoned to you. “I do favour a walk in the woods. If you would pack my lunch in a basket and await me in my chambers, I shall not be much longer with the matters of council.”

“Your highness,” You dipped your head.

“Quickly,” He bid under his breath and waved you away.

You obeyed, eager to be away as much as he wanted you away. His urgency to have you gone was an ill omen. It confirmed that whatever trouble twinkled in Thor’s eyes would not be good for either you or the prince.

🌩️

You walked along just a step behind Loki as he led you through the trees, stopping to watch a passing bird or look closer at some leaf or petal. He had been quiet since his return from council. He’d not said a word as he tossed a blanket from the chest into the basket you’d packed with cheese, bread, and wine, and a book as well. You carried the heavy load along the narrow trails, the air warm as it was trapped by the thick trunks around you.

You came upon a clearing and he paced around its parameter. He bid you to lay down the blanket and as you did, he sat upon it, one leg bent and the other straight. He rested his elbow on the bent one and hummed in thought. You pulled out his lunch but he didn’t seem very interested in the food.

“Sit,” He said as he gestured beside him. You sat on your knees and stared at the weave of the blanket. “Are you going to ask or shall I take the initiative?”

You peeked over at him and he sighed. You shrugged and he pushed back a strand of his dark hair.

“The legacy act was created to ensure that the kingdom was not left without heir.” Loki rubbed his chin as he spoke. “Be it legitimate or otherwise.” The words seemed sour on his tongue as he forced them out. “It legalizes the keeping of concubines by the monarch so that he may assure himself a continued bloodline.” Loki shook his head. “I am certain you can guess why my brother did take an interest in reviving the antiquated and ridiculous bill.”

Your mouth fell open as it was not difficult to surmise. Even an uneducated servant like yourself could solve such a basic equation. Yet, a part of you still wanted to deny it. The king would not do all that because of you. He could have any woman in the kingdom; in your estimate, he had.

“I do understand.” You said.

Loki was silent and he reached for the loaf of bread. He took a chunk of bread and a piece of cheese and offered it to you. You thanked him as you accepted it but didn’t feel much hunger as that terrible feeling sunk deeper and deeper. Was it destiny or dread?

“Is that it?” You wondered. “Nothing else to say?”

“On the matter of my brother and his foolery? No,” Loki bit into the cheese.

You looked down at the food in your hand and broke off a piece of cheese and bread and began to nibble at it. You ate slowly, silently. The prince offered you more but you declined as you feared your stomach would flip. He packed up the leftovers himself but did not rise. He took the book he had slipped into the basket and sat back, his legs sprawled out before him.

“Do you like stories?” He asked.

“I suppose,” You answered as you played with a blade of grass pulled from along the edge of the blanket. “My mother used to tell us about the monsters found by the fishermen.”

“Well this is nothing so fantastical as that but entertaining nonetheless,” Loki said. “Would you like me to read it to you?”

You considered him a moment. He had tasted bitter defeat and it seemed to humble him but you did not truly believe him. How could you? He had proven himself a convincing actor. Yet, you found the question harmless enough. A story; a brief escape from your reality. Perhaps he was belittling you with the offer but it seemed your pride would be chipped away one way or the other.

“I would,” You accepted. “If it is no trouble to you.”

“Not at all,” He accepted. “Come,” He pointed between his legs, “Sit with me.”

Then it returned. That repulsive flavour, that bubbling sickness. Ridicule. Why had you thought it would be anything less than another trick? You didn’t have the energy to argue with the prince. You’d tried it the night before and found it futile. Humour him and perhaps he would lose interest. It wasn’t so amusing when your prey gave you no chase.

You walked on your knees to him and turned to sit between his legs. His hand rested on your hip as he guided you and bent his legs to cradle you. His hand snaked around to your stomach and he urged you to lean back against him.

“Do you mind if I continue from my mark?” He asked.

“No,” You said flatly. You just didn’t care anymore.

“Very good,” He praised as he opened the book with one hand and cleared his throat.

‘He’d never seen a creature like her. Never seen the coils of sheer delight that seemed to contort her body.’

You went rigid as you registered the words, the scene set without much preamble as his soft tone seeped into your ears.

‘It was at his touch that she writhed and raved. That she pleaded for more and yet, he had barely done anything more than pet her.’

Loki’s hand slipped down your stomach to your lap. Before you could press your legs together, his hand was between them.

“Ahh,” He warned you bluntly. “Just sit and listen. Don’t you move.”

You swallowed and looked at the text. You’d never learned to read and wondered if perhaps he was conjuring the words on his own. It didn’t matter. You just sat there as his finger pressed your skirt against your cunt.

‘He obliged her, his fingers moving almost upon their own accord.’ His own seemed to mimic the written scene. ‘He traced circles along her tender bud and watched those upon her chest sharpen. The way she gasped, moaned, and soon enough, sobbed had him swollen with desire.’

His fingers swirled as he rubbed you through your dress and your thighs squeezed his hand as the peculiar tingle stoked the panic only then breaking through your apathy. You touched his hand and he waved you away with a hum which warned of worse. You bit your lip without thinking as the ripples that rose in you echoed the movement of his fingertips.

‘He slipped further down and felt the sacred folds of her flowers. Two fingers sank into her, coated in her lust, and she choked upon her pleasure.’

His words faded in your mind as his hand stoked your body. You’d never felt anything like it before. You wanted him to stop and yet you didn’t. His voice carried on without a hint of what he was doing to you but you could not focus on the story. You leaned into him and purred as you felt yourself nearing some precipice you couldn’t see.

Your toes curled against your sandals and you grasped Loki’s knee without thinking as you arched your back. You let out a sharp cry as the tension broke suddenly and deluge washed over you. Your eyes rolled back and closed as you panted through the pulsing pleasure and his fingers slowed, easing you down from your peak.

When you opened your eyes, the book was closed. You felt a prodding along your lower back and Loki’s hand floated away from your lap. He felt along your side and sent a shiver through you as he leaned in to inhale the scent of your neck. His lips brushed your skin as he spoke.

“Remember this when he takes you,” He said. “Know that he will never make you feel better than I can.”